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Beautiful C|ioug|)ts 

FROM »X^ 

John Greenleaf Whittier 

AND * **-^ "-^-^..^ 

Oliver Wendell Holmes 

Arranged by F, W, H. 




James Pott & Company 
MCMII 



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THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Cop4Ea Reosived 

OCT. m'^WQ^ 

CnaVBlOHT PNTWV 

OLfiksX XXa No. 
COPY B= 






$^ 



Copyright, ipo2, by 
JAMES POTT ^ CO. 



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Dedication. 

I would the gift I offer here 

Might graces from thy favor take, 
And, seen through Friendship's atmos- 
phere, 
On softened lines and coloring, wear 
The unaccustomed light of beauty, for 
thy sake. 

John Greenleaf Whittier, 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2010 with funding from 
The Library of Congress 



http://www.archive.org/details/beautifulthoughtOOwhit 



JANUARY. 



January ist 
The wave is breaking on the shore — 

The echo fading from the chime — 
Again the shadow moveth o'er 

The dial-plate of time! 

Oh, seer-seen Angel! waiting now 
With weary feet on sea and shore, 

Impatient for the last dread vow 
That time shall be no more ! — 

Once more across thy sleepless eye 
The semblance of a smile has passed; 

The year departing leaves more nigh 
Time's fearfullest and last. 

« The New Year." — Whittier. 

January 2d. 

With smoking axle hot with speed, with 

steeds of fire and steam, 
7 



BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 



Wide-waked To-day leaves Yesterday 
behind him like a dream. 

Still, from the hurrying train of Life, fly 
backward far and fast 

The milestones of the fathers, the land- 
marks of the past. 

But human hearts remain unchanged: 
the sorrow and the sin, 

The loves and hopes and fears of old, 
are to our own akin ; 

And, in the tales our fathers told, the 
songs our mothers sung, 

Tradition, snowy-bearded, leans on Ro- 
mance, ever young. 

" Mary Garvin."— Whittier. 

January ^d. 
Blessings on thee, little man. 
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan! 
With thy turned-up pantaloons. 



FROM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 9 

And thy merry whistled tunes ; 
With thy red lip, redder still 
Kissed by strawberries on the hill ; 
With the sunshine on thy face, 
Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace: 
From my heart I give thee joy — 
I was once a barefoot boy ! 
Prince thou art — the grown-up man 
Only is republican. 
Let the million-dollared ride! 
Barefoot, trudging at his side, 
Thou hast more than he can buy. 
In the reach of ear and eye — 
Outward sunshine, inward joy: 
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy! 

"The Barefoot Boy:*^WkitHer. 

January 4ih. 
Oh, friend beloved, whose curious skill 
Keeps bright the last year's leaves and 
flowers. 



10 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

With warm, glad summer thoughts to 
fill 
The cold, dark, winter hours! 

Pressed on thy heart, the leaves I bring 
May well defy the wintry cold, 

Until, in Heaven's eternal spring. 
Life's fairer ones unfold. 

" Lines."— Whittier. 

January ^th. 
Steep, and hung with clouds of strife. 
Is our narrow path of life ; 
And our death the dreaded fall 
Through the dark, awaiting all. 

So, with painful steps we climb 
Up the dizzy ways of time. 
Ever in the shadow shed 
By the forecast of old dread. 



FROM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 11 

Dread of mystery solved alone, 
Of the untried and unknown; 
Yet the end thereof may seem 
Like the falling of my dream. 

« My Dream."— WhittUr. 

January 6th, 
So when Time's veil shall fall asunder, 

The soul may know 
No fearful change, nor sudden wonder, 
Nor sink the weight of mystery under, 
But with the upward rise, and with 
the vastness grow. 

And all we shrink from now may seem 

No new revealing; 
Familiar as our childhood's stream 
Or pleasant memory of a dream, 

The loved and cherished Past upon the 
new life stealing. 

"Hampton Beach." — Uliittur. 



12 BEAUTIFUL TSOUGSTS 

January yth, 
A wild and broken landscape, spiked 
with firs, 
Roughening the bleak horizon's north- 
ern edge. 
Steep, cavernous hillside, where black 
hemlock spurs 
And sharp, gray splinters of the wind- 
swept ledge 
Pierced the thin-glaz'd ice, or bristling 
rose, 
Where the cold rim of the sky sunk 
down upon the snows. 

« The New Home."— Whittier, 

January 8th. 
The age is dull and mean. Men creep. 
Not walk; with blood too pale and 

tame 
To pay the debt they owe to shame ; 



FBOM WEITTIEB AND HOLMES. 13 



Buy cheap, sell dear; eat, drink, and 
sleep 
Down-pillowed, deaf to moaning 
want; 
Pay tithes for soul-insurance; keep 
Six days to Mammon, one to Cant. 
***** 
God's ways seem dark, but, soon or late. 
They touch the shining hills of day; 
The evil cannot brook delay. 
The good can well afford to wait. 
Give ermined knaves their hour of 
crime ; 
Ye have the future grand and great. 
The safe appeal of Truth to Time! 

«' Lines."— Whittier. 

January gth, 
God is good and God is light. 
In this faith I rest secure; 



14 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Evil can but serve the right, 
Over all shall love endure. 

" Calef in Boston." — Whittier. 

January loth. 

Grieve, as thou must, o'er history's reek- 
ing page; 

Blush for the wrongs that stain thy hap- 
pier age; 

Strive with the wanderer from the better 
path, 

Bearing thy message meekly, not in 
wrath ; 

Weep for the frail that err, the weak that 
fall, 

Have thine own faith, — but hope and 
pray for all ! 

" Urania."— -^/ww. 

January nth. 
I ask not now for gold to gild 
With mocking shine a weary frame; 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 15 

The yearning of the mind is stilled — 
I ask not now for Fame. 

A rose-cloud, dimly seen above, 
Melting in heaven's blue depths away ^ 

O! sweet, fond dream of human Love! 
For thee I may not pray. 

But, bowed in lowliness of mind, 
I make my humble wishes known — 

I only ask a will resigned, 
O Father, to thine own! 

« The Wish of To-day."— WhittUr, 

January 12th. 
Health to the art whose glory is to give 
The crowning boon that makes it life to 

live. 
Ask not her home; — the rock where Na- 
ture flings 



16 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Her arctic lichen, last of living things, 
The gardens, fragrant with the Orient's 

balm. 
From the low jasmine to the star-like 

palm. 
Hail her as mistress o'er the distant 

waves, 
And yield their tribute to her wandering 

slaves. 
Wherever, moistening the ungrateful 

soil. 
The tear of suffering tracks the path of 

toil. 
There, in the anguish of his fevered 

hours. 
Her gracious finger points to healing 

flowers; 
Where the lost felon steals away to die. 
Her soft hand waves before his closing 

eye; 



FROM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 17 

Where hunted misery finds his darkest 

lair, 
The midnight taper shows her kneeling 

there! 

«< A Modest Request." — Holmes. 

January ijth. 
We shape ourselves the joy or fear 

Of which the coming life is made 
And fill our Future's atmosphere 

With sunshine or with shade. 

The tissue of the Life to be 

We weave with colors all our own, 
And in the field of Destiny 

We reap as we have sown. 

Still shall the soul around it call 
The shadows which it gathered here, 

And painted on the eternal wall 
The Past shall reappear. 

« Raphael."— WhittUr. 



18 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

January 14th. 
The clouds, which rise with thunder, 
slake 

Our thirsty souls with rain ; 
The blow most dreaded falls to break 

From off our limbs a chain ; 
And wrongs of man to man but make 

The love of God more plain. 
As through the shadowy lens of even 
The eye looks farthest into heaven, 
On gleams of star and depths of blue 
The glaring sunshine never knew! 

"All's y^eW'—Whittur. 

January i^th. 
Talking is like playing on the harp ; there 
is as much in laying the hand on the 
strings to stop a vibration as in twanging 
them to bring out their music. 

" The AxiiocxdX:'— Holmes. 



FROM WEITTIEB AND HOLMES. 19 

January i6th. 
When the after cares of thy life shall 

come, 
When the bud shall wither before its 

bloom ; 
When thy soul is sick of the emptiness 
And changeful fashion of human bliss; 
And the weary torpor of blighted feeling 
Over thy heart as ice is stealing — 

Then, when thy spirit is turn'd above, 
By the mild rebuke of the Chastener's 

love; 
When the hope of that joy in thy heart 

is stirr'd, 
Which eye hath not seen, nor ear hath 

heard, — 
Then will that phantom of darkness be 
Gladness, and Promise, and Bliss to thee. 

" Stanzas."— Whittier. 



20 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

January lyth. 
Thanks, oh, our Father! that, like him. 

Thy tender love I see. 
In radiant hill and woodland dim. 

And tinted sunset sea. 
For not in mockery dost Thou fill 

Our earth with light and grace; 
Thou hid'st no dark and cruel will 

Behind Thy smiling face! 

" The Lake-Side."— Whittier. 

January i8th. 
A bitter cup each life must drain. 
The groaning earth is cursed with pain, 
And, like the scroll the angel bore 
The shuddering Hebrew seer before, 
O'erwrit alike, without, within. 
With all the woes which follow sin; 
But, bitterest of the ills beneath 
Whose load man totters down to death. 



FROM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 21 

Is that which plucks the regal crown 
Of Freedom from his forehead down, 
And snatches from his powerless hand 
The sceptred sign of self-command, 
Effacing with the chain and rod 
The image and the seal of God; 
Till from his nature, day by day, 
The manly virtues fall away, 
And leave him naked, blind, and mute. 
The godlike merging in the brute! 

" Derne."— Wkittier. 

January igth. 
Every real thought on every real sub- 
ject knocks the wind out of somebody or 
other. As soon as his breath comes 
back, he very probably begins to expand 
it in hard words. These are the best 
evidence a man can have that he has said 
something it was time to say. Dr. John- 



22 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

son was disappointed in the effect of one 
of his pamphlets. "I think I have not 
been attacked enough for it," he said; — 
"attack is the reaction, I never think I 
have hit hard unless it rebounds." 

" The Auiocx&t:*— Holmes. 

January 20th. 
Light, warmth, and sprouting greenness, 

and o'er all 
Blue, stainless, steel-bright ether, raining 

down 
Tranquillity upon the deep-hushed town, 
The freshening meadows, and the hill- 
sides brown; 
Voice of the west wind from the 
hills of pine. 
And the brimmed river from its distant 
fall, 
Low hum of bees, and joyous interlude 



FEOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 23 

Of bird-songs in the streamlet-skirting 

wood, — 
Heralds and prophecies of sound and 

sight, 
Blessed forerunners of the warmth and 
light, 
Attendant angels to the house of prayer, 
With reverent footstepskeeping pace 
with mine, — 
Once more, through God's great love, 

with you I share 
A morn of resurrection sweet and fair 
As that which saw, of old, in Pales- 
tine, 
Immortal Love uprising in fresh bloom 
From the dark night and winter of the 
tomb! 

" Pictures."— Whittier, 

January 2ist. 
God of my Spirit! — Thou, alone, 



24 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Who watchest o'er my pillowed head, 
Whose ear is open to the moan 
And sorrowing of thy child, hast known 

The grief which at my heart has fed, — 
The struggle of my soul to rise 
Above its earth-born sympathies, — 

The tears of many a sleepless bed! 

Oh, be Thine arm, as it hath been, 
In every test of heart and faith — 

The Tempter's doubt — the wiles of 
men — 

The heathen's scoff — the bosom sin — 
A helper and a stay beneath, 

A strength in weakness 'mid the strife 

And anguish of my wasting life — 
My solace and my hope in death ! 

" The Missionary."— Whittier, 

January 22d. 
Little localized powers, and little nar- 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 25 

row Streaks of specialized knowledge, 
are things men are very apt to be con- 
ceited about. Nature is very wise; but 
for this encouraging principle, how many 
small talents and little accomplishments 
would be neglected ! Talk about conceit 
as much as you like, it is to human char- 
acter what salt is to the ocean ; it keeps 
it sweet and renders it endurable. Say 
rather it is like the natural unguent of the 
sea-fowl's plumage, which enables him 
to shed the rain that falls on him and the 
waves in which he dips. When one has 
had all his conceit taken out of him, 
when he has lost all his illusions, his 
feathers will soon soak through, and he 
will fly no more. 

" The Autocrat." — Holmes. 

January 23d. 
All generous minds have a horror of 



26 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

what are commonly called "facts." 
They are the brute beasts of the intellec- 
tual domain. Who does not know fel- 
lows that always have an ill-conditioned 
fact or two that they lead after them into 
decent company like so many bulldogs, 
ready to let them slip at every ingenious 
suggestion, or convenient generalization, 
or pleasant fancy } 

" The Autocrat." — Holmes, 

January 24th. 
The same old baffling questions! O, 

my friend! 
I cannot answer them. In vain I send 
My soul into the dark, where never burn 
The lamps of science, nor the natural 
light 
Of Reason's sun and stars! I cannot 
learn 



FE03I WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 27 



Their great and solemn meanings, nor 

discern 
The awful secrets of the eyes which turn 
Evermore on us through the day and 

night 
With silent challenge and a dumb de- 
mand, 
Proffering the riddles of the dread 

unknown. 
Like the calm Sphinxes, with their eyes 
of stone. 
Questioning the centuries from their 
veils of sand! 
I have no answer for myself or thee. 
Save that I learned beside my mother's 

knee; 
" All is of God that is, and is to be; 
And God is good." Let this suffice us 

still. 
Resting in childlike trust upon His will, 



28 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Who moves to His great ends unthwarted 
by the ill. 

January 2^th, 
In calm and cool and silence, once again 
I find my old accustomed place among 
My brethren, where, perchance, no 

human tongue 
Shall utter words; where never hymn 

is sung. 
Nor deep-toned organ blown, nor 
censer swung. 
Nor dim light falling through the pic- 
tured pane! 
There, syllabled by silence, let me hear 
The still small voice which reached the 

prophet's ear; 
Read in my heart a still diviner law 
Than Israel's leader on his tables saw! 



, FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 29 

There let me strive with each besetting 

sin, 
Recall my wandering fancies, and 

restrain 
The sore disquiet of a restless brain. 

«« First-Day Thoughts."— Whittier. 

January 26th. 
How curious it is that we always con- 
sider solemnity and the absence of all 
gay surprises and encounters of wits as 
essential to the idea of the future life of 
those whom we thus deprive of half 
their faculties and then call blessed! 
There are not a few who, even in this 
life, seem to be preparing themselves for 
that smileless eternity to which they look 
forward, by banishing all gayety from 
their hearts and all joyousness from their 
countenances. 

" The Autocrat." — Holmes. 



30 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

January 2yth. 
Then faint not, falter not, nor plead 

Thy weakness; truth itself is strong; 
The lion's strength, the eagle's speed. 

Are not alone vouchsafed to wrong. 

Thy nature, which, through fire and 
flood. 

To place or gain finds out its way. 
Hath power to seek the highest good. 

And duty's holiest call obey ! 

" The Voices."— Whittier. 

January 28th. 
Fill soft and deep, O winter snow! 

The sweet azalea's oaken dells. 
And hide the bank where roses blow, 

And swing the azure bells ! 

O'erlay the amber violet's leaves, 
The purple aster's brookside home, 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 31 



Guard all the flowers her pencil gives 
A life beyond their bloom. 

And she, when spring comes round 
again, 

By greening slope and singing flood 
Shall wander, seeking, not in vain. 

Her darlings of the wood. 

" Flowers in Winter." — Whittier. 

January 2gth. 
As to clever people's hating each other, 
I think a little extra talent does some- 
times make people jealous. They be- 
come irritated by perpetual attempts and 
failures, and it hurts their tempers and 
dispositions. Unpretending mediocrity 
is good, and genius is glorious; but a 
weak flower of genius in an essentially 
common person is detestable. It spoils 
the grand neutrality of a commonplace 



32 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

character, as the rinsings of an unwashed 
wine-glass spoil a draught of fair water. 

«« The AXA.OCXQ.X.."— Holmes. 

January joth. 
May grace be given that I may walk 
therein, 
Not like the hireling, for his selfish 
gain, 
With backward glances and reluctant 

tread, 
Making a merit of his coward dread, — 
But, cheerful, in the light around me 

thrown, 
Walking as one to pleasant service led; 
Doing God's will as if it were my 
own, 
Yet trusting not in mine, but in His 
strength alone! 

« First-Day Thoughts."— Whitiier. 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 33 

January jist 
We all have to assume a standard of 
judgment in our own minds, whether of 
things or persons. A man who is will- 
ing to take another's opinion has to exer- 
cise his judgment in the choice of whom 
to follow, which is often as nice a matter 
as to judge of things for one's self. On 
the whole, I had rather judge men's 
minds by comparing their thoughts with 
my own than judge of thoughts by 
knowing who utter them. I must do 
one or the other. 

" The Autocrat." — Holmes. 



FEBRUARY. 



February ist 
Ah ! human kindness, human love — 

To few who seek denied — 
Too late we learn to prize above 

The whole round world beside! 

" The Hill-top."— Whittier. 

February 2d, 
Virtue, — the guide that men and nations 

own; 
And Law, the bulwark that protects her 

throne; 
And Health, — to all its happiest charm 

that lends; 
These and their servants, man's untiring 

friends ; 

37 



38 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Pour the bright lymph that Heaven itself 

lets fall,— 
In one fair bumper let us toast them all! 

" A Modest Request." — Holmes. 

February jd. 
Alas! — the evil which we fain would 

shun 
We do, and leave the wished-for good 
undone: 
Our strength to-day 
Is but to-morrow's weakness, prone to 

fall; 
Poor, blind, unprofitable servants all 
Are we alway. 

Yet, who, thus looking backward o'er 

his years. 
Feels not his eyelids wet with grateful 

tears. 
If he hath been 



FEOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 39 

Permitted, weak and sinful as he was, 
To cheer and aid, in some ennobling cause, 
His fellow-men ? 

"The Reward."— ^>^?V/2Vn 

February 4th. 
Old friend, kind friend! lightly down 
Drop time's snowflakes on thy crown! 
Never be thy shadow less, 
Never fail thy cheerfulness; 
Care, that kills the cat, may plough 
Wrinkles in the miser's brow, 
Deepen envy's spiteful frown. 
Draw the mouths of bigots down, 
Plague ambition's dream, and sit 
Heavy on the hypocrite, 
Haunt the rich man's door, and ride 
In the gilded coach of pride; — 
Let the fiend pass ! — what can he 
Find to do with such as thee ? 

"To My Old Schoo\mz.siQr:'—lVhitHer. 



40 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

February ^th. 
Bind up thy tresses, thou beautiful one, 
Of brown in the shadow and gold in the 

sun! 
Free should their delicate lustre be thrown 
O'er a forehead more pure than the Parian 

stone — 
Shaming the light of those Orient pearls 
Which bind o'er its whiteness thy soft 

wreathing curls. 

Smile— for thy glance on the mirror is 

thrown, 
And the face of an angel is meeting 

thine own! 
Beautiful creature— I marvel not 
That thy cheek a lovelier tint hath 

caught; 
And the kindling light of thine eye hath told 
Of a dearer wealth than the miser's gold. 

« Stanzas."— Whittier, 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES, 41 

February 6th. 
Without is neither gold nor green; 

Within, for birds, the birch-logs sing; 
Yet, summer-like, we sit between 

The autumn and the spring. 

The one, with bridal blush of rose, 
And sweetest breath of woodland 
balm. 

And one whose matron lips unclose 
In smiles of saintly calm. 

" Flowers in Winter." — Whittier. 

February yth. 
Ye who have known the sudden tears 

that flow, — 
Sad tears, yet sweet, the dews of twilight 

woe, — 
When, led by chance, your wandering 

eye has crossed 



42 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Some poor memorial of the loved and 

lost, 
Bear with my weakness as I look around 
On the dear relics of this holy ground, 
These bowery cloisters, shadowed and 

serene, 
My dreams have pictured ere mine eyes 

have seen. 

** Astraea." — Holmes. 

February 8th. 
To-day, beneath thy chastening eye, 

I crave alone for peace and rest. 
Submissive in thy hand to lie. 

And feel that it is best. 

A marvel seems the Universe, 
A miracle our Life and Death; 

A mystery which 1 cannot pierce. 
Around, above, beneath. 



FBOM WHITTIEB AND H0L3IES. 43 



In vain I task my aching brain, 
In vain the sage's thought I scan; 

I only feel how weak and vain, 
How poor and blind, is man. 

" The Wish of To-day."— Wkittier. 

February gth. 
Despite of sneers like these, oh, faithful 

few, 
Who dare to hold God's word and wit- 
ness true. 
Whose clear-eyed faith transcends our 

evil time. 
And, o'er the present wilderness of 

crime, 
Sees the calm future, with its robes of 

green. 
Its fleece-flecked mountains, and soft 

streams between, — 
Still keep the path which duty bids ye 

tread, 



44 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Though worldly wisdom shake the cau- 
tious head; 

No truth from heaven descends upon 
our sphere, 

Without the greeting of the sceptic's 
sneer; 

Denied and mocked at, till its blessings 
fall, 

Common as dew and sunshine, over all. 

" The Peace Convention."— Whittier, 

February loth. 
In your dark ages, since ye fell asleep. 
Much has been done for truth and 

human kind — 
Shadows are scattered wherein ye groped 

blind; 
Man claims his birthright, freer pulses 

leap 
Through peoples driven in your day like 

sheep ; 



FEOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 45 

Yet, like your own, our age's sphere of 

light, 
Though widening still, is walled around 

by night; 
With slow, reluctant eye, the Church 

has read. 
Sceptic at heart, the lessons of its Head ; 
Counting, too oft, its living members 

less 
Than the wall's garnish and the pulpit's 

dress ; 
World-moving zeal, with power to bless 

and feed 
Life's fainting pilgrims, to their utter 

need. 
Instead of bread, holds out the stone of 

creed ; 
Sect builds and worships where its 

wealth and pride 
And vanity stand shrined and deified. 



46 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Careless that in the shadow of its walls 

God's living temple into ruin falls. 

We need, methinks, the prophet-hero 

still, 
Saints true of life, and martyrs strong of 

will. 
To tread the land, even now, as Xavier 
trod 
The streets of Goa, barefoot, with his 
bell. 
Proclaiming freedom in the name of 
God, 
And startling tyrants with the fear of 

hell! 
Soft words, smooth prophecies, are 
doubtless well; 
But to rebuke the age's popular crime. 
We need the souls of fire, the hearts of 
that old time! 

«« The Men of Old."— Whittier. 



FBOM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 47 

February nth. 
I should have felt more nervous about 
the late comet if I had thought the world 
was ripe. But it is very green yet, if I 
am not mistaken; and besides, there is a 
great deal of coal to use up, which I 
cannot bring myself to think was made 
for nothing. If certain things which 
seem to me essential to a millennium had 
come to pass, I should have been fright- 
ened; but they haven't. 

"The AvXocrzX:'— Holmes. 

February 12th. 
The homesick dreamer's brow is nightly 

fanned 
By breezes whispering of his native land, 
And, on the stranger's dim and dying 

eye. 
The soft, sweet pictures of his childhood 
lie! 

« At Pennacook."— Whittier. 



48 BEAUTIFUL TE0UQHT8 

February ijth, 
O lady! there be many things 

That seem right fair, below, above ; 
But sure not one among them all 

Is half so sweet as love; — 
Let us not pay our vows alone, 
But join two altars both in one. 

" Stanzas." — Holmes, 

February 14th. 
If, then, a fervent wish for thee 
The gracious heavens will heed from 

me. 
What should, dear heart, its burden be ? 

The sighing of a shaken reed — 
What can I more than meekly plead 
The greatness of our common need ? 

God's love — unchanging, pure, and true — 
The Paraclete white-shining through 
His peace — the fall of Hermon's dew ! 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 49 

With such a prayer, on this sweet day, 
As thou mayst hear and I may say, 
I greet thee, dearest, far away ! 

«« Benedicite." — WhittUr. 

February i^th. 
Stranger and pilgrim ! — from that day 

Of meeting, first and last. 
Wherever Duty's pathway lay. 

His reverent steps have passed. 

The poor to feed, the lost to seek, 

To proffer life to death, 
Hope to the erring — to the weak 

The strength of his own faith. 

To plead the captive's right; remove 
The sting of hate from Law ; 

And soften in the fire of love 
The hardened steel of War. 

«• William Forster." — Whittier. 



50 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

February i6th. 
Like some bright spirit sent between 
The earth and heaven, she seems to lean 

Wearily on the cloud and rest; 
And light from her unsullied brow 
That gloomy cloud is gathering now 
Along each wreath'd and whitening 
crest. 

" The Missionary."— Whiltier. 

February lyth. 
I love you all! there radiates from our 
own 
A soul that lives in every shape we 
see; 
There is a voice, to other ears unknown. 
Like echoed music answering to its 
key. 
The dungeoned captive hath a tale to tell. 
Of every insect in his lonely cell; 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 51 

An^ these poor frailties have a simple 

tone, 
That breathes in accents sweet to me 

alone. 

" To My Companions." — Holmes. 

February i8th. 
Unheard no burdened heart's appeal 

Moans up to God's inclining ear; 
Unheeded by His tender eye, 

Falls to the earth no sufferer's tear. 

For still the Lord alone is God! 

The pomp and power of tyrant man 
Are scattered at His lightest breath. 

Like chaff before the winnower's fan. 

"The Legend of St. Uzx\ir—WhitHer. 



February ipth. 



reoruary ic^in. 
Don't flatter yourself that friendship 
authorizes you to say disagreeable things 



52 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

to your intimates. On the contrary, the 
nearer you come into relation witn a 
person, the more necessary do tact and 
courtesy become. Except in cases of 
necessity, which are rare, leave your 
friend to learn unpleasant truths from 
his enemies; they are ready enough to 
tell them. 

" The Autocrat." — Holmes, 

February 20th. 
Art builds on sand; the works of pride 

And human passion change and fall; 
But that which shares the life of God 

With Him surviveth all. 

" Wordsworth."— Whittier. 

February 21st. 
" Qui vive ! " And is the sentry's cry,— 

The sleepless soldier's hand, — 
Are these, — the painted folds that fly 



FBOM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 53 

And lift their emblems, printed high, 
On morning mist and sunset sky, — 

The guardians of a land ? 
No ! If the patriot's pulses sleep, 
How vain the watch that hirelings 
keep, — 

The idle flag that waves, 
When Conquest, with his iron heel. 
Treads down the standards and the steel 

That belt the soil of slaves ! 

" Qui Vive ! " — Holmes. 

February 22d. 
Land of our fathers, in thine hour of 

need 
God help thee, guarded by the passive 

creed! 
As the lone pilgrim trusts to beads and 

cowl. 
When through the forest rings the gray 

wolfs howl; 



54 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

As the deep galleon trusts her gilded 
prow 

When the black corsair slants athwart 
her bow; 

As the poor pheasant, with his peaceful 
mien, 

Trusts to his feathers, shining golden- 
green. 

When the dark plumage with the crim- 
son beak 

Has rustled shadowy from its splintered 
peak ; 

So trust thy friends, whose idle tongues 
would charm 

The lifted sabre from thy foeman's arm, 

Thy torches ready for the answering 
peal 

From bellowing fort and thunder- 
freighted keel ! 

<' Astraea." — Holmes, 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 55 

February 2^d. 
God's love and peace be with thee, where 
Soe'er this soft autumnal air 
Lifts the dark tresses of thy hair! 



Whether through city casements comes 
Its kiss to thee, in crowded rooms, 
Or, out among the woodland blooms, 



It freshens o'er thy thoughtful face, 
Imparting, in its glad embrace, 
Beauty to beauty, grace to grace ! 

" Benedicite."— Whittier. 



February 24th. 
If the wild filly, ** Progress," thou 

would'st ride, 
Have young companions ever at thy side; 



56 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

But, would'st thou stride the stanch old 

mare, ** Success," 
Go with thine elders, though they please 

thee less. 

«« Urania." — Holmes. 

February 2^th. 
God calls our loved ones, but we lose not 
wholly 
What He hath given; 
They live on earth, in thought and deed, 
as truly 
As in His heaven. 

« To my Friend. ' '— Whittier. 

February 26th. 
God is Love, saith the Evangel ; and our 

world of woe and sin 
Is made light and happy only when a 

Love is shining in. 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 57 

Ye whose lives are free as sunshine, find- 
ing wheresoe'er ye roam, 

Smiles of welcome, looks of kindness, 
making all the world like home. 

" The Slaves of Martinique." — Whittier. 

February 2yth. 
Yet, for this vision of the Past, 
This glance upon its darkness cast, 
My spirit bows in gratitude 
Before the Giver of all good. 
Who fashioned so the human mind, 
That, from the waste of Time behind 
A simple stone, or mound of earth, 
Can summon the departed forth ; 
Quicken the Past to life again — 
The Present lose in what hath been, 
And in their primal freshness show 
The buried forms of long ago. 
As if a portion of that Thought 
By which the Eternal will is wrought. 



58 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Whose impulse fills anew with breath 
To frozen solitude of Death, 
To mortal mind were sometimes lent, 
The mortal musings sometimes sent, 
To whisper — even when it seems 
But Memory's phantasy of dreams — 
Through the mind's waste of woe and 

sin, 
Of an immortal origin! 

«' The Norsemen." — Whittier. 

February 28th. 
Trust not the teacher with his lying 

scroll. 
Who tears the charter of thy shuddering 

soul; 
The God of love, who gave the breath 

that warms 
All living dust in all its varied forms. 
Asks not the tribute of a world like this 
To fill the measure of His perfect bliss. 



FEOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 59 

Though winged with life through all its 
radiant shores, 

Creation flowed with unexhausted stores 

Cherub and seraph had not yet enjoyed; 

For this He called thee from the quicken- 
ing void I 

" Urania." — Holmes. 



MARCH. 



March ist. 
The wild March rains had fallen fast and 

long 
The snowy mountains of the North 

among, 
Making each vale a water-course — each 

hill 
Bright with the cascade of some new 

made rill. 

" The Departure."— Whiitier. 

March 2d. 
So when this fluid age we live in 

Shall stiffen round my careless rhyme, 
Who made the vagrant tracks may puzzle 

The savans of the coming time: 

And, following out their dim suggestions, 
Some idly-curious hand may draw 

63 



64 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

My doubtful portraiture, as Cuvier 
Drew fish and bird from fin and claw. 



And maidens in the far-off twilights. 
Singing my words to breeze and stream, 

Shall wonder if the old-time Mary 
Were real, or the rhymer's dream ! 

" The First Flowers."— Whittier. 



March jd. 
The song is hushed. Another moment 

parts 
This breathing zone, this belt of living 

hearts ; 
Ah, think not thus the parting moment 

ends 
The soul's embrace of new-discovered 

friends. 

"'KsixAeB. J' —Holmes. 



Fmm WmTTtEB and holmes. 65 

March 4th. 
My heart was heavy, for its trust had 
been 
Abused, its kindness answered with 
foul wrong; 
So, turning gloomily from my fellow- 
men, 
One summer Sabbath day I strolled 
among 
The green mounds of the village burial 
place; 
Where, pondering how all human love 

and hate 
Find one sad level— and how, soon or 
late. 
Wronged and wrong-doer, each with 
meekened face, 
And cold hands folded over a still heart. 
Pass the green threshold of our common 
grave. 



66 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Whither all footsteps tend, whence 

none depart, 
Awed for myself, and pitying my race, 
Our common sorrow, like a mighty 

wave, 
Swept all my pride away, and trembling 

I forgave! 

" Forgiveness." — Whittier. 

March ^th. 
Children of wealth or want, to each is 

given 
One spot of green, and all the blue of 

heaven! 
Enough, if these their outward shows 

impart; 
The rest is thine, — the scenery of the 

heart. 
If passion's hectic in thy stanzas glow 
Thy heart's best life-blood ebbing as they 

flow, 



FEOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 67 

If with thy verse thy strength and bloom 

distil, 
Drained by the pulses of the fevered 

thrill; 
If sound's sweet effluence polarize thy 

brain, 
And thoughts turn crystals in thy fluid 

strain, — 
Nor rolling ocean, nor the prairie's 

bloom, 
Nor streaming cliffs, nor rayless cavern's 

gloom, 
Need'st thou, young poet, to inform thy 

line; 
Thy own broad signet stamps thy song 

divine! 

" Urania." — Holmes. 

March 6th. 
Away with weary cares and themes! — 
Swing wide the moonlit gate of dreams! 



68 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Leave free once more the land which 
teems 

With wonders and romances! 
Where thou, with clear discerning eyes, 
Shalt rightly read the truth which lies 
Beneath the quaintly masking guise 

Of wild and wizard fancies. 

«♦ To My Sister."— Whittier. 

March yth. 
Christ's love rebukes no home-love, 

breaks no tie of kin apart; 
Better heresy in doctrine, than heresy of 

heart. 

" Mary Garvin." — Whittier. 

March 8th. 

We have settled when old age begins. 

Like all Nature's processes, it is gentle 

and gradual in its approaches, strewed 

with illusions, and all its little griefs 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 69 

soothed by natural sedatives. But the 
iron hand is not less irresistible because it 
wears the velvet glove. The button- 
wood throws off its bark in large flakes, 
which one may find lying at its foot, 
pushed out, and at last pushed off by 
that tranquil movement from beneath, 
which is too slow to be seen, but too 
powerful to be arrested. One finds them 
always, but one rarely sees them fall. 
So it is our youth drops from us — scales 
off, sapless and lifeless, and lays bare the 
tender and immature fresh growth of old 
age. Looked at collectively, the changes 
of old age appear as a series of personal 
insults and indignities, terminating at 
last in death, which Sir Thomas Browne 
has called "the very disgrace and igno- 
miny of our natures." 

"The A.utocxQ.V^Holmes. 



70 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

March gth. 
Oh, brother man ! fold to thy heart thy 
brother; 
Where pity dwells, the peace of God 
is there; 
To worship rightly is to love each other, 
Each smile a hymn, each kindly deed 
a prayer. 

Follow with reverent steps the great ex- 
ample 
Of Him whose holy work was " doing 
good"; 
So shall the wide earth seem our Father's 
temple, 
Each loving life a psalm of gratitude. 

«« Worship."— Whittier. 

March loth. 
And Nature's God, to whom alone 
The secret of the heart is known — 
The hidden language traced thereon; 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 71 

Who from its many cumberings 

Of form and creed, and outward things, 

To light the naked spirit brings; 

Not with our partial eye shall scan — 
Not with our pride and scorn shall ban 
The spirit of our brother man ! 

« Funeral Tree of the Sokokis."— Wkittier. 

March nth. 
" Strivest thou in darkness ?— Foes with- 
out 
In league with traitor thoughts 
within; 
Thy night-watch kept with trembling 
Doubt 
And pale Remorse the ghost of 
Sin? — 

" Hast thou not, on some week of storm, 
Seen the sweet Sabbath breaking 
fair, 



72 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

And cloud and shadow, sunlit, form 
The curtains of its tent of prayer ? 

"So, haply, when thy task shall end, 
The wrong shall lose itself in right. 
And all thy week-day darkness blend 
With the long Sabbath of the light! " 

« The Voices."— Whittier, 

March 12th. 
What are the great faults of conversa- 
tion ? Want of ideas, want of words, 
want of manners, are the principal ones, 
I suppose you think. I don't doubt it, 
but I will tell you what I have found 
spoil more good talks than anything else; 
long arguments on special points between 
people who differ on the fundamental 
principles on which these points depend. 
No men can have satisfactory relations 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 73 

with each other until they have agreed 
on certain ultimata of belief not to be 
disturbed in ordinary conversation, and 
unless they have sense enough to trace 
the secondary questions depending upon 
these ultimate beliefs to their source. 

« The Autocrat." — Holmes. 



March i^th. 
Life's changes vex, its discords stun, 

Its glaring sunshine blindeth, 
And blest is he who on his way 

That fount of healing findeth! 

The shadows of a humbled will 
And contrite heart are o'er it: 

Go read its legend — '* Trust in God "- 
On Faith's white stones before it. 

"The Well of Loch MsLvee."— IVMllter. 



74 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

March 14th. 
Stream of my fathers ! sweetly still 
The sunset rays thy valley fill; 
Poured slantwise down the long defile, 
Wave, wood, and spire beneath them 

smile. 
I see the winding Powow fold 
The green hill in its belt of gold, 
And following down its wavy line. 
Its sparkling waters blend with thine. 
There's not a tree upon thy side, 
Nor rock, which thy returning tide 
As yet hath left abrupt and stark 
Above thy evening water-mark; 
No calm cove with its rocky hem. 
No isle whose emerald swells begem 
Thy broad, smooth current; not a sail 
Bowed to the freshening ocean gale; 
No small boat with its busy oars, 
Nor gray wall sloping to thy shores; 



FROM. WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 75 

Nor farmhouse with its maple shade, 
Or rigid poplar colonnade, 
But lies distinct and full in sight, 
Beneath this gush of sunset light. 

« The Merrimack."— Whittier. 

March i^th. 
Is not Nature's worship thus 

Ceaseless ever, going on ? 
Hath it not a voice for us 

In the thunder, or the tone 
Of the leaf-harp faint and small, 

Speaking to the unsealed ear 

Words of blended love and fear, 
Of the mighty Soul of all ? 

" Mogg Megone." — Whittier. 

March i6th. 
Most lives, though their stream is 
loaded with sand and turbid with allu- 



76 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

vial waste, drop a few golden grains of 
wisdom, as they flow along. Often- 
times a single cradling gets them all, and 
after that the poor man's labor is only 
rewarded by mud and worn pebbles. 

" Tlie AxAocxdX:*— Holmes. 

March lyth. 
In sweet accordancy of praise and love, 

The singing waters run ; 
And sunset mountains wear in light 
above 
The smile of duty done; 
Sure stands the promise — ever to the 
meek 
A heritage is given ; 
Nor lose they Earth who, single-hearted, 
seek 
The righteousness of Heaven! 

" The Christian Tourists."— Whittier. 



FEOM WBITTIER AND HOLMES. Tt 

March i8th. 
Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, 
For rich repiner and household drudge! 

God pity them both ! and pity us all. 
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall. 

For of all sad words of tongue or pen, 
The saddest are these: "It might have 
been I " 

Ah, well! for us all some sweet hope lies 
Deeply buried from human eyes ; 

And, in the hereafter, angels may 
Roll the stone from its grave away! 

" Maud Muller."— Whittier. 

March igth. 
Come, seek the air; some pictures we 

may gain 
Whose passing shadows shall not be in 

vain: 



78 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Not from the scenes that crowd the 

stranger's soil, 
Not from our own amidst the stir of toil, 
But when the Sabbath brings its kind 

release, 
And Care lies slumbering on the lap of 

Peace. 

The air is hushed; the street is holy 
ground; 

Hark! The sweet bells renew their wel- 
come sound; 

As one by one awakes each silent 
tongue. 

It tells the turret whence its voice is 
flung. 

" Urania." — Holmes. 

March 20th. 
The eyes of memory will not sleep, — 
Its ears are open still; 



FROM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 79 

And vigils with the past they keep 
Against my feeble will. 

"The Knight of St. ^o\in:*—Whiitier. 

March 21st. 
Gift from the cold and silent Past I 
A relic to the present cast; 
Left on the ever-changing strand 
Of shifting and unstable sand, 
Which wastes beneath the steady chime 
And beating of the waves of Time! 
Who from its bed of primal rock 
First wrenched thy dark, unshapely 

block ? 
Whose hand, of curious skill untaught, 
Thy rude and savage outline wrought ? 

« The Norsemen."— Whittier. 

March 22d. 
The promise of a fairer morrow, 
An earnest of the better life to come; 



80 BEAUTIFUL THOUGBTS 

The binding of the spirit broken, 
The warning to the erring spoken, 

The comfort of the sad. 
The eye to see, the hand to cull 
Of common things the beautiful. 

The absent heart made glad 
By simple gift or graceful token 
Of love it needs as daily food. 
All own one Source, and all are good! 

"To A. K."— /^y5?V^?Vn 

March 2^d, 
When one of us who has been led by 
native vanity or senseless flattery to 
think himself or herself possessed of 
talent, arrives at the full and final con- 
clusion that he or she is really dull, it is 
one of the most tranquilizing and blessed 
convictions that can enter a mortal's 
mind. All our failures, our short- 
comings, our strange disappointments 



FROM WHITTIER AND HOLMES, 81 

in the effect of our efforts are lifted from 
our bruised shoulders, and fall, like 
Christian's pack, at the feet of that 
Omnipotence which has seen fit to deny 
us the pleasant gift of high intelligence, 
— with which one look may overflow us 
in some wider sphere of being. 

« The Autocrat." — Holmes. 

March 24th. 
Through heat and cold, and shower and sun 

Still onward cheerly driving! 
There's life alone in duty done, 

And rest alone in striving. 
But see! the day is closing cool. 

The woods are dim before us; 
The white fog of the wayside pool 

Is creeping slowly o'er us. 

The night is falling, comrades mine. 
Our footsore beasts are weary, 



82 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

And through yon elms the tavern sign 

Looks out upon us cheery. 
The landlord beckons from his door, 

His beechen fire is glowing; 
These ample barns, with feed in store, 

Are filled to overflowing. 

" The Drovers."— Whittier. 

March 2^th. 
As o'er his furrowed fields which lie 
Beneath a coldly-dropping sky 
Yet chill with winter's melted snow. 
The husbandman goes forth to sow ; 

Thus, Freedom, on the bitter blast 
The ventures of thy seed we cast, 
And trust to warmer sun and rain. 
To swell the germ, and fill the grain. 

"Seed Time and YLditvQsV— Whittier. 

March 26th. 
A lone, stern man. Yet, as sometimes 
The tempest-smitten tree receives 



FROM WEITTIEE AND HOLMES. 83 

From one small root the sap which 
climbs 
Its topmost spray and crowning 
leaves, 
So from his child the Sachem drew 
A life of Love and Hope, and felt 
His cold and rugged nature through 
The softness and the warmth of her 
young being melt. 

« The Daughter."— Whittier. 

March 2yth. 
Winter is past; the heart of Nature 

warms 
Beneath the wrecks of unresisted storms; 
Doubtful at first, suspected more than 

seen, 
The southern slopes are fringed with 

tender green ; 
On sheltered banks, beneath the dripping 

eaves, 



84 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Spring's earliest nurslings spread their 

glowing leaves, 
Bright with the hues from wider pictures 

won, 
White, azure, golden, — drift, or sky, or 

sun; — 
The snowdrop, bearing on her patient 

breast 
The frozen trophy torn from winter's 

crest ; 
The violet, gazing on the arch of blue 
Till her own iris wears its deepened hue; 
The spendthrift crocus, bursting through 

the mould 
Naked and shivering with his cup of 

gold. 

" Astraea." — Holmes. 

March 28th. 
Tall and erect the maiden stands, 

Like some young priestess of the wood. 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 85 

The free born child of Solitude, 
And bearing still the wild and rude, 
Yet noble trace of Nature's hands. 
Her dark brown cheek has caught its 

stain 
More from the sunshine than the rain ; 
Yet, where her long fair hair is parting, 
A pure white brow into light is starting; 
And, where the folds of her blanket 

sever. 
Are a neck and bosom as white as ever 
The foam-wreaths rise on the leaping 

river. 

" Mogg Megone." — Whittier. 

March 2gth. 
Well speed thy mission, bold Iconoclast! 
Yet all unworthy of its trust thou art, 
If, with dry eye, and cold, unloving 
heart, 



86 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Thou tread'st the solemn Pantheon of 
the Past, 
By the great Future's dazzling hope 

made blind 
To all the beauty, power, and truth, 
behind. 
Not without reverent awe shouldst thou 
put by 
The cypress branches and the amaranth 

blooms. 
Where, with clasped hands of prayer, 
upon their tombs 
The effigies of old confessors lie, 
God's witnesses ; the voices of His will, 
Heard in the slow march of the centuries 

still! 
Such were the men at whose rebuking 

frown, 
Dark with God's wrath, the tyrant's knee 
went down; 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 87 

Such from the terrors of the guilty drew 
The vassal's freedom and the poor man's 
due. 

« The Men of Old."— Whittier. 

March ^oth. 
Stick to your aim; the mongrel's hold 

will slip, 
But only crowbars loose the bulldog's 

grip; 
Small as he looks, the jaw that never 

yields 
Drags down the bellowing monarch of 

the fields ! 

" Urania." — Holmes. 

March jist. 
The earth hath felt the breath of spring. 
Though yet on her deliverer's wing 
The lingering frosts of winter cling. 

« Funeral Tree of the Sokokis." — Whittier. 



APRIL. 



J 



April I St. 
'Tis springtime on the eastern hills! 
Like torrents gush the summer rills; 
Through winter's moss and dry dead 

leaves 
The bladed grass revives and lives, 
Pushes the mouldering waste away, 
And glimpses to the April day. 
In kindly shower and sunshine bud 
The branches of the dull gray wood; 
Out from its sunned and sheltered nooks 
The blue eye of the violet looks; 

The southwest wind is warmly blow- 
ing. 
And odors from the springing grass. 
The pine-tree and the sassafras, 

Are with it on its errands going. 

" Mogg Megone." — Whittier. 
91 



92 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

April 2d. 
It is as if the pine-trees called me 

From ceiled room and silent books, 
To see the dance of woodland shadows, 

And hear the song of April brooks! 

»• The First Flowers." — U'hittiir. 

April ^d. 

Her tokens of renewing care 
Hath Nature scattered ever\-where, 
In bud and flower, and warmer air. 

" Funeral Tree cf the Sokokis.'"— U'hitti^r. 

April 4th. 
There is one very sad thing in old 
friendships, to every mind that is really 
moving onward. It is this: That one 
cannot help using his early friends as the 
seaman uses the log. to mark his prog- 
ress. Everv now and then we throw 



FBO:^ WHITTI£B AXD SOLJIFS. 93 

an old schoolmate over the stern with a 
string of thought tied to him, and look— 
I am afraid with a kind of luxurious and 
sanctimonious compassion — to see the 
rate at which the string reels off, \\'hile 
he lies there bobbing up and down, poor 
fellow! and we are dashing along with 
the white foam and bright sparkle at our 
bows; — the rullied bosom of prosperity 
and progress, with a spring of diamonds 
stuck in it! 

•' The Autocrat." — Holmes. 

April ^th. 
Through vales of grass and meads of 
tlowers. 
Our ploughs their furrows made, 
While on the hills the sun and showers 
Of changeful April played. 

"The Com Song." — IVhittUr. 



94 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

April 6th. 
A laugh which in the woodland rang 
Bemocking April's gladdest bird — 
A light and graceful form which sprang 
To meet him when his step was 
heard — 
Eyes by his lodge-fire flashing dark, 

Small fingers stringing bead and shell 
Or weaving mats of bright-hued 
bark, — 
With these the household-god had graced 
his wigwam well. 

« The Daughter."— Whittier. 

April yth. 
Eternal Truth! Beyond our hopes and 

fears 
Sweep the vast orbits of thy myriad 

spheres ! 
From age to age while History carves 

sublime 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 95 

On her waste rock the flaming curves of 

time, 
How the wild swayings of our planet 

show 
That worlds unseen surround the world 

we know! 

" Astraea." — Holmes. 

April 8th. 
Oh Father, bear with me; my heart 

Is sick and deathlike, and my brain 

Seems girdled with a fiery chain, 
Whose scorching links will never part, 

And never cool again. 
Bear with me while I speak — but turn 

Away that gentle eye, the while — 
The fires of guilt more fiercely burn 

Beneath its holy smile; 
For half I fancy I can see 
My mother's sainted look in thee. 

" Mogg Megone." — WhiitUr. 



96 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

April gth. 
Oh, Thou, who in the garden's shade 

Didst wake Thy weary ones again, 
Who slumbered at that fearful hour 

Forgetful of Thy pain; 

Bend o'er us now, as over them, 
And set our sleep-bound spirits free, 

Nor leave us slumbering in the watch 
Our souls should keep with Thee! 

'• The Cypress Tree." — Whittier. 

April loth. 
That Sacrifice! — the death of Him — 

The High and ever Holy One! 
Well may the conscious Heaven grow 
dim,. 
And blacken the beholding Sun! 
The wonted light hath fled away, 
Night settles on the middle day. 



FE03I WHITTIJER AND BOLMES. 97 

And earthquake from his caverned bed 
Is waking with a thrill of dread! 
^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 

And shall the sinful heart, alone, 

Behold unmoved the atoning hour. 
When Nature trembles on her throne. 
And Death resigns his iron power ? 
Oh, shall the heart — whose sinfulness 
Gave keenness to His sore distress. 
And added to His tears of blood — 
Refuse its trembling gratitude ! 

« The Crucifixion."— Whittier. 

April nth. 
We get into a way of thinking as if 
what we call an "intellectual man " was, 
as a matter of course, made up of nine- 
tenths, or thereabouts, of book-learning, 
and one-tenth himself. But even if he 
is actually so compounded, he need not 



BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 



read much. Society is a strong solution 
of books. It draws the vii'tue out of 
what is best worth reading, as hot water 
draws the strength of tea-leaves. If 1 
were a prince, I would hire or buy a 
private literary teapot, in which I would 
steep all the leaves of new books that 
promised well. The infusion would do 
for me without the vegetable fibre. 

" The Autocrat." — Holmes. 

April 1 2th. 
Thou, O Most Compassionate! 
Who didst stoop to our estate. 
Drinking of the cup we drain, 
Treading in our path of pain — 

Through the doubt and mystery. 
Grant to us thy steps to see. 
And the grace to draw from thence 
Larger hope and confidence. 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 99 

Show Thy vacant tomb, and let, 
As of old, the angels sit. 
Whispering, by its open door: 
"Fear not! He hath gone before! " 

"My Bream."— IV^iUier. 

April ijth. 
So let it live unfading. 

The memory of the dead, 
Long as the pale anemone 

Springs where their tears were shed, 
Or, raining in the summer's wind 

In flakes of burning red. 
The wild rose sprinkles with its leaves 

The turf where once they bled ! 

" The Pilgrim's Vision." — Holmes. 

April 14th. 
'Tis the noon of the springtime, yet 

never a bird 
In the wind-shaken elm or the maple is 

heard ; 

LqFC. 



100 BEAUTIFUL TSOUGETS 

For green meadow-grasses wide levels 
of snow, 

And blowing of drifts where the crocus 
should blow; 

Where wind-flower and violet, amber 
and white, 

On south-sloping brooksides should 
smile in the light, 

O'er the cold winter-beds of their late- 
waking roots 

The frosty flake eddies, the ice-crystal 
shoots ; 

And, longing for light, under wind- 
driven heaps, 

Round the boles of the pine-wood the 
ground-laurel creeps, 

Unkissed of the sunshine, unbaptized of 
showers. 

With buds scarcely swelled, which 
should burst into flowers! 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 101 

We wait for thy coming, sweet wind of 

the south! 
For the touch of thy light wings, the kiss 

of thy mouth ; 
For the yearly evangel thou bearest from 

God, 
Resurrection and life to the graves of the 

sod! 

" April."— WhittUr, 

April i^th. 
Rocked on her breast, these pines and I 
Alike on Nature's love rely; 
And equal seems to live or die. 

Assured that He, whose presence fills 
With light the spaces of these hills, 
No evil to His creatures wills, 

The simple faith remains, that He 
Will do, whatever that may be. 
The best alike for man and tree. 



102 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

What mosses over one shall grow, 
What light and life the other know, 
Unanxious, leaving Him to show. 

« Summer by the Lakeside.'' — Whittier. 

April i6ih. 

When the green earth, beneath the zeph- 
yr's wing, 

Wears on her breast the varnished buds 
of spring; 

When the loosed current, as its folds 
uncoil, 

Slides in the channels of the mellowed 
soil; 

When the young hyacinth returns to seek 

The air and sunshine with her emerald 
beak; 

When the light snowdrops, starting from 
their cells. 

Hang each pagoda with its silver bells; 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 103 

When the frail willow twines her trail- 
ing bow 

With pallid leaves that sweep the soil 
below; 

When the broad elm, sole empress of 
the plain, 

Whose circling shadow speaks a cen- 
tury's reign, 

Wreathes in the clouds her regal dia- 
dem, — 

A forest waving on a single stem ; — 

Then mark the poet; though to him un- 
known 

The quaint-mouthed titles, such as schol- 
ars own, 

See how his eye in ecstasy pursues 

The steps of Nature tracked in radiant 
hues; 

Nay, in thyself, whate'er may be thy 
fate, 



104 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Pallid with toil, or surfeited with state, 
Mark how thy fancies, with the vernal 

rose, 
Awake, all sweetness, from their long 

repose; 
Then turn to ponder o'er the classic page. 
Traced with the idyls of a greener age, 
And learn the instinct which arose to 

warm 
Art's earliest essay, and her simplest 

form. 

«« Poetry." — Holmes. 

April 17th. 

Nor lack I friends, long-tried and near 
and dear. 

Whose love is round me like this atmos- 
phere, 

Warm, soft, and golden. For such gifts 
to me, 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 105 

What shall I render, O my God, to Thee ? 
Let me not dwell upon my lighter share 
Of pain and ill that human life must 

bear; 
Save me from selfish pining; let my 

heart, 
Drawn from itself in sympathy, forget 
The bitter longings of a vain regret. 
The anguish of its own peculiar smart. 
Remembering others, as I have to-day. 
In their great sorrows, let me live alway 
Not for myself alone, but have a part, 
Such as a frail and erring spirit may. 
In love which is of Thee, and which in- 
deed Thou art! 

"The Prisoners of NsLples."— IVAi^tier. 

April i8th. 
It is a very dangerous thing for a liter- 
ary man to indulge his love for the ridic- 



106 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

ulous. People laugh with him just so 
long as he amuses them; but if he at- 
tempts to be serious, they must still have 
their laugh, and so they laugh at him. 

" The A.nioct2X:'— Holmes, 

April igth. 
Through Thy clear spaces. Lord, of old. 
Formless and void the dead earth rolled; 
Deaf to Thy heaven's sweet music, blind 
To the great lights which o'er it shined; 
No sound, no ray, no warmth, no 

breath, — 
A dumb despair, a wandering death. 

To that dark, weltering horror came 
Thy spirit, like a subtle flame, — 
A breath of life electrical. 
Awakening and transforming all, 
Till beat and thrilled in every part 
The pulses of a living heart. 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 107 

Then knew their bounds the land and 

sea; 
Then smiled the bloom of mead and tree; 
From flower to moth, from beast to man, 
The quick creative impulse ran; 
And earth, with life from Thee renewed, 
Was in Thy holy eyesight good. 

«« Invocation." — Whittier. 

April 2oth, 
''Through the harsh noises of our day 
A low, sweet prelude finds its way ; 
Through clouds of doubt, and creeds of 

fear, 
A light is breaking, calm and clear. 

''That song of Love, now low and far. 
Ere long shall swell from star to star! 
That light, the breaking day, which tips 
The golden-spired Apocalypse! " 

« The Chapel of the Hermits."— Whittier. 



108 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

April 21 St. 

A track of moonlight on a quiet lake, 
Whose small waves on a silver-sanded 

shore 
Whisper of peace, and with the low 

winds make 
Such harmonies as keep the woods 

awake, 
And listening all night long for their 

sweet sake; 
A green-waved slope of meadow, 

hovered o'er 
By angel-troops of lilies, swaying light 
On viewless stems, with folded wings of 

white; 
A slumberous stretch of mountain-land, 

far seen 
Where the low westering day, with gold 

and green, 
Purple and amber, softly blended, fills 



FROM WSITTIEB AND HOLMES. 109 

The wooded vales, and melts among the 

hills; 
A vine-fringed river, winding to its rest 
On the calm bosom of a stormless sea, 
Bearing alike upon its placid breast, 
With earthly (lowers and heavenly stars 
impressed. 
The hues of time and of eternity: 
Such are the pictures which the 
thought of thee, 
O friend, awakeneth, — charming the 
keen pain 
Of thy departure, and our sense of 
loss 
Requiting with the fulness of thy gain. 

«« In Peace."— Whittier. 

April 22d. 
Too young for wisdom's tardy seal, 

Too old for garlands now; 
Yet, while the dewy breath of spring 



no BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Steals o'er the tingling air, 
And spreads and fans each emerald wing 

The forest soon shall wear, 
How bright the opening year would 
seem, 

Had I one look like thine. 
To meet me when the morning beam 

Unseals these lids of mine! 
Too long I bear this lonely lot, 

That bids my heart run wild 
To press the lips that love me not, 

To clasp the stranger's child. 

" The Only Daughter."— i^^^/z^^^j. 

April 2jd. 
Friends of my youth ! I must leave you 
forever, 
And hasten to dwell in a region un- 
known: — 
Yet time cannot change, nor the broad 
ocean sever. 



FROM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. Ill 

Hearts firmly united and tried as our 

own. 
Ah, no! though I wander, all sad and 

forlorn, 
In a far distant land, yet shall memory 

trace, 
When far o'er the ocean's white surges 

I'm borne, 
The scene of past pleasures, — my own 

native place. 

" The Exile's Departure." — Whittier. 

April 24th. 
Oh, vain the vow, and vain the strife! 

How vain do all things seem ! 
My soul is in the past, and life 

To-day is but a dream ! 

"The Knight of St. ^ohn."— Whittier. 

April 2^th. 
In vain to me the Sphinx propounds 
The riddle of her sights and sounds; 



112 BEAUTIFUL TB0UGBT8 

Back still the vaulted mystery gives 
The echoed question it receives. 
What sings the brook ? What oracle 
Is in the pine tree's organ swell ? 
What may the wind's low burden be ? 
The meaning of the moaning sea ? 
The hieroglyphics of the stars ? 
Or clouded sunset's crimson bars ? 
I vainly ask, for mocks my skill 
The trick of Nature's cipher still. 

" Questions of Life." — Whittier, 

April 26th. 
Ah, me! what strains and strophes of 
unwritten verse pulsate through my soul 
when I open a certain closet in the an- 
cient house where I was born! On its 
shelves used to lie bundles of sweet- 
marjoram and pennyroyal and lavender 
and mint and catnip; there apples were 
stored until their seeds should grow 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 113 

black, which happy period there were 
sharp little milk-teeth always ready to 
anticipate; there peaches lay in the dark, 
thinking of the sunshine they had lost, 
until, like the hearts of saints that dream 
of heaven in their sorrow, they grew 
fragrant as the breath of angels. The 
odorous echo of a score of dead summers 
lingers yet in those dim recesses. 

« The KniocxzX."— Holmes. 

April 2yth. 

O, soul of the springtime, its light and 
its breath, 

Bring warmth to this coldness, bring life 
to this death ; 

Renew the great miracle ; let us behold 

The stone from the mouth of the sepul- 
chre rolled. 

And Nature, like Lazarus, rise, as of old ! 



114 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Let our faith, which in darkness and 
coldness has lain, 

Revive with the warmth and the bright- 
ness again. 

And in blooming of flower and budding 
of tree 

The symbols and types of our destiny 
see; 

The life of the springtime, the life of 
the whole. 

And as sun to the sleeping earth love to 
the soul ! 

" April." — Whittier. 

April 28th. 
Darkly upon our struggling way 

The storm of human hate is sweeping; 
Hunted and branded, and a prey, 
Our watch amidst the darkness keep- 
ing! 



FROM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 115 

Oh ! for that hidden strength which can 
Nerve unto death the inner man! 
Oh! for thy spirit, tried and true, 

And constant in the hour of trial, 
Prepared to suffer, or to do. 

In meekness and in self-denial. 

« To the Memory of Thomas Shipley." — Whittier. 

April 2gth, 
I am: how little more I know! 
Whence came I ? Whither do I go ? 
A centred self, which feels and is; 
A cry between the silences; 
A shadow-birth of clouds at strife 
With sunshine on the hills of life; 
A shaft from Nature's quiver cast 
Into the Future from the Past; 
Between the cradle and the shroud, 
A meteor's flight from cloud to cloud. 

«« Questions of Life." — Whittier. 



116 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

April ^oth. 
At last young April, ever frail and fair, 
Wooed by her playmate with the golden 

hair, 
Chased to the margin of receding floods 
O'er the soft meadows starred with open- 
ing buds, 
In tears and blushes sighs herself away. 
And hides her cheek beneath the flowers 
of May. 

« Astxa&z.."— Holmes. 



MAY. 



May ist 
We, dropped the seed o'er hill and plain, 

Beneath the sun of May, 
And frightened from our sprouting grain 

The robber crows away. 

" The Huskers."— Whittier, 

May 2d. 
Still for these I own my debt; 
Memory, with her eyelids wet. 
Fain would thank thee even yet! 

And as one who scatters flowers 
Where the Queen of May's sweet hours 
Sits, o'ertwined with blossomed bowers, 

In superfluous zeal bestowing 

Gifts where gifts are overflowing, 

So I pay the debt I'm owing. 
119 



120 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

To thy full thoughts, gay or sad, 
Sunny-hued or sober clad, 
Something of my own I add. 

" Remembrance." — Whittier. 

May ^d. 
Sad Mayflower! watched by winter stars, 

And nursed by winter gales, 
With petals of the sleeted spars, 

And leaves of frozen sails! 

What had she in those dreary hours, 

Within her ice-rimmed bay, 
In common with the wild-wood flowers, 

The first sweet smiles of May ? 

Yet, " God be praised! " the Pilgrim said. 
Who saw the blossoms peer 

Above the brown leaves, dry and dead, 
" Behold our Mayflower here! " 

" The Mayflowers."— Whittier. 



FROM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 121 

May 4th. 
Ay, there's a glorious remnant yet, 

Whose lips are wet at Freedom's foun- 
tains, 
The coming of whose welcome feet 

Is beautiful upon our mountains! 
Men, who the gospel tidings bring 

Of Liberty and Love forever, 
Whose joy is one abiding spring, 

Whose peace is as a gentle river! 

" Lines."— Whittier. 

May ^th. 
We, like the leaf, the summit, or the 

wave, 
Reflect the light our common nature 

gave. 
But every sunbeam, falling from her 

throne. 
Wears, on our hearts, some coloring of 

our own: 



122 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Chilled in the slave, and burning in the 

free, 
Like the sealed cavern by the sparkling 

sea; 
Lost, like the lightning in the sullen clod, 
Or shedding radiance, like the smiles of 

God; 
Pure, pale in Virtue, as the star above, 
Or quivering roseate on the leaves of 

Love; 
Glaring like noontide, where it glows 

upon 
Ambition's sands, — the desert in the sun; 
Or soft suffusing o'er the varied scene 
Life's common coloring, — intellectual 

green. 

«* A Metrical Ess2Ly."— Holmes. 

May 6th. 
How welcome to our ears, long pained 
By strife of sect and party noise, 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 123 

The brook-like murmur of his song 
Of nature's simple joys ! 

The violet by its mossy stone, 
The primrose by the river's brim, 

And chance-sown daffodil, have found 
Immortal life through him. 

The sunrise on his breezy lake, 
The rosy tints his sunset brought, 

World-seen, are gladdening all the vales 
And mountain-peaks of thought. 

« Wordsworth." — Whittier. 

May yth. 
Thanks for thy gift 
Of ocean flowers. 
Born where the golden drift 
Of the slant sunshine falls 
Down the green, tremulous walls 
Of water, to the cool, still coral bowers, 



124 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Where, under rainbows of perpetual 
showers, 
God's gardens of the deep 
His patient angels keep; 
Gladdening the dim, strange solitude 
With fairest forms and hues, and 

thus 
Forever teaching us 
The lesson which the many-colored 

skies, 
The flowers, and leaves, and painted 

butterflies, 
The deer's branched antlers, the gay 

bird that flings 
The tropic sunshine from its golden 

wings. 
The brightness of the human counte- 
nance, 
Its play of smiles, the magic of a glance, 
Forevermore repeat, 



FROM WHITTIEE AND HOLMES. 125 

In varied tones and sweet, 
That beauty, in and of itself, is good. 

« To A. K."— Whittier. 

May 8th. 
The hills are dearest which our childish feet 
Have climbed the earliest; and the streams 

most sweet, 
Are ever those at which our young lips 

drank. 
Stooped to their waters o'er the grassy 

bank: 

Midst the cold dreary sea-watch, Home's 

hearth-light 
Shines round the helmsman plunging 

through the night; 
And still, with inward eye, the traveler 

sees 
In close, dark, stranger streets his native 

trees. 

" At Pennacook." — Whittier. 



126 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

May gth. 

But whence and why, our trembling 
souls inquire, 

Caught these dim visions their awaken- 
ing fire ? 

Oh, who forgets when first the piercing 
thought 

Through childhood's musings found its 
way unsought. 

I AM ; — I LIVE. The mystery and the fear 

When the dread question — What has 

BROUGHT ME HERE .? 

Burst through life's twilight, as before 

the sun 
Roll the deep thunders of the morning gun ! 

" Urania." — Holmes. 

May loth. 
Fresh grasses fringe the meadow-brooks, 
And mildly from its sunny nooks 
The blue eye of the violet looks. 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 127 

And odors from the springing grass, 
The sweet birch and the sassafras, 
Upon the scarce-felt breezes pass. 

« Funeral Tree of the Sokokis."— Whittier. 

May nth, 
I find the great thing in this world is 
not so much where we stand, as in what 
direction we are moving. To reach the 
port of heaven, we must sail sometimes 
with the wind and sometimes against it, 
— but we must sail, and not drift, nor lie 
at anchor. 

" The k^x\.OQ,x^V'— Holmes. 

May 1 2th. 
How sweetly on the wood-girt town 
The mellow light of sunset shone! 
Each small, bright lake, whose waters 

still 
Mirror the forest and the hill. 



128 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Reflected from its waveless breast 
The beauty of a cloudless West, 
Glorious as if a glimpse were given 
Within the western gates of Heaven, 
Left, by the spirit of the star 
Of sunset's holy hour, ajar I 

" Pentucket." — Whittier. 

May ijth. 
Gray searcher of the upper air! 

There's sunshine on thy ancient 
walls — 
A crown upon thy forehead bare — 

A flashing on thy waterfalls — 
A rainbow glory in the cloud, 
Upon thine awful summit bowed, 

Dim relic of the recent storm! 
And music, from the leafy shroud 
Which wraps in green thy giant form, 
Mellowed and softened from above. 

Steals down upon the listening ear, 



FEOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 129 

Sweet as the maiden's dream of love, 
With soft tones melting on her ear. 

The time has been, gray mountain, 
when 
Thy shadows veiled the red man's 
home; 
And over crag and serpent den, 
And wild gorge, where the steps of 
men 
In chase or battle might not come. 
The mountain eagle bore on high 
The emblem of the free of soul ; 
And midway in the fearful sky 
Sent back the Indian's battle-cry, 
Or answered to the thunder's roll. 

" Mount Agiochook." — Whittier. 

May 14th. 
What a comfort a dull but kindly per- 
son is, to be sure, at times ! A ground 



130 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

glass shade over a gas-lamp does not 
bring more solace to our dazzled eyes 
than such a one to our minds. 

«' The AvXocr&V— Holmes. 

May ijith. 
To the God of all sure mercies let my 

blessing rise to-day, 
From the scoffer and the cruel He hath 

plucked the spoil away, — 
Yea, He who cooled the furnace around 

the faithful three, 
And tamed the Chaldean lions, hath set 

His handmaid free! 

" Cassandra South wick." — Whittier. 

May 1 6th. 

See, but glance briefly, sorrow- worn and 
pale, 

Those sunken cheeks beneath the wid- 
ow's veil; 



FROM WHITTIER AND EOLMES. 131 

Alone she wanders where with him she 

trod, 
No arm to stay her, but she leans on 

God. 

«' \Jrs.n\2,."— Holmes. 

May lyth. 

Oh, child of that white-crested mountain 
whose springs 

Gush forth in the shade of the cliff- 
eagle's wings, 

Down whose slopes to the lowlands thy 
wild waters shine, 

Leaping gray walls of rock, flashing 
through the dwarf pine. 

From that cloud-curtained cradle so cold 

and so lone, 
From the arms of that wintry-locked 

mother of stone, 



132 BEAUTIFUL TH0UGBT8 

By hills hung with forests, through vales 

wide and free, 
Thy mountain-born brightness glanced 

down to the sea! 

No bridge arched thy waters save that 

where the trees 
Stretched their long arms above thee and 

kissed in the breeze. 

" The Merrimack."— Whittier. 

May 1 8th. 
The long night dies: the welcome gray 

Of dawn we see; 
Speed up the heavens thy perfect day, 

God of the free ! 

" Moloch in State Street."— Whittier. 

May ipth. 
Our brains are seventy-year clocks. 
The Angel of Life winds them up once 



FROM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 133 

for all, then closes the case, and gives 
the key into the hand of the Angel of the 
Resurrection. 

Tic-tac! tic-tac! go the wheels of 
thought; our will cannot stop them; 
they cannot stop themselves; sleep can- 
not still them ; madness only makes them 
go faster; death alone can break into the 
case, and seizing the ever-swinging pen- 
dulum, which we call the heart, silence 
at last the clicking of the terrible escape- 
ment we have carried so long beneath 
our wrinkled foreheads. 

" The Autocrat." — Holmes. 

May 20th. 
Red as the banner which enshrouds 

The warrior-dead when strife is done, 
A broken mass of crimson clouds 

Hung over the departed sun. 



134 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

The shadow of the western hill 
Crept swiftly down, and darkly still. 
As if a sullen wave of night 
Were rushing on the pale twilight. 
The forest-openings grew more dim, 
As glimpses of the arching blue 
And waking stars come softly through 
The rifts of many a giant limb. 
Above the wet and tangled swamp 
White vapors gathered thick and damp, 
And through their cloudy curtaining 
Flapped many a brown and dusky 

wing — 
Pinions that fan the moonless dun. 
But fold them at the rising sun! 

« Metacom." — Whittier. 

May 2 1 St. 
Oh ! sacred flowers of faith and hope. 
As sweetly now as then 



FEOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 135 

Ye bloom on many a birchen slope, 
In many a pine-dark glen. 

Behind the sea-wall's rugged length, 
Unchanged, your leaves unfold. 

Like love behind the manly strength 
Of the brave hearts of old. 

" The Mayflowers."— Whittier. 

May 22d. 
Thoughts of my soul, how swift ye go! 

Swift as the eagle's glance of fire. 
Or arrows from the archer's bow. 

To the far aim of your desire! 
Thought after thought, ye thronging rise. 

Like spring-doves from the startled 
wood, 
Bearing like them your sacrifice 

Of music unto God ! 

« Hymns."— Whittier. 



136 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

May 2jd. 
Did you never in walking the fields, 
come across a large flat stone, which 
has lain, nobody knows how long, 
just where you found it, with the grass 
forming a little hedge, as it were, close 
to its edges, — and have you not, in obe- 
dience to a kind of feeling that told you 
it had been lying there long enough, in- 
sinuated your stick or your foot or your 
fingers under its edge and turned it over 
as a housewife turns a cake, when she 
says to herself, " It's done brown enough 
by this time " ? What an odd relevation, 
and what an unforeseen and unpleasant 
surprise to a small community, the very 
existence of which you had not suspected, 
until the sudden dismay and scattering 
among its members produced by your 
turning the old stone over! 

«« The K\xiQCX3X."— Holmes. 



FBOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 137 

May 24th. 
Sons of the best of fathers! will ye falter 
With all they left ye peril'd and at 
stake ? 
Ho! once again on Freedom's holy altar 
The fire awake ! 

Prayer-strengthend for the trial, come 
together, 
Put on the harness for the moral fight, 
And, with the blessing of your heavenly 
Father, 

Maintain the Right! 

«« A Summons."— WhUtier. 

May 2^th. 
In the darkness as in daylight. 

On the water as on land, 
God's eye is looking on us, 

And beneath us is His hand! 



138 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Death will find us soon or later, 
On the deck or in the cot; 

And we cannot meet him better 
Than in working out our lot. 

« The Fisherman."— Whittier. 

May 26th. 
Faith loves to lean on Time's destroying 

arm, 
And age, like distance, lends a double 

charm; 
In dim cathedrals, dark with vaulted 

gloom, 
What holy awe invests the saintly tomb! 
There pride will bow, and anxious care 

expand, 
And creeping avarice come with open 

hand; 
The gay can weep, the impious can 

adore, 



FBOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 139 

From morn's first glimmerings on the 

chancel floor 
Till dying sunset sheds his crimson stains 
Through the faint halos of the irised 

panes. 

" Urania." — Holmes. 

May 2yth. 
If he hath hidden the outcast, or let in 
A ray of sunshine to the cell of sin, — 

If he hath lent 
Strength to the weak, and, in an hour of 

need. 
Over the suffering, mindless of his creed 
Or home, hath bent, 

He has not lived in vain, and v^hile he 

gives 
The praise to Him, in whom he moves 

and lives, 

With thankful heart; 



140 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

He gazes backward, and with hope be- 
fore, 

Knowing that from his works he never 
more 

Can henceforth part. 

" The Reward,"— Whittier. 

May 28th. 
I always believed in life rather than in 
books. I suppose every day of earth, 
with its hundred thousand deaths and 
something more of births, with its loves 
and hates, its triumphs and defeats, its 
pangs and blisses, has more of humanity 
in it than all the books that were ever 
written, put together. I believe the 
flowers growing at this moment send 
up more fragrance to heaven than was 
ever exhaled from all the essences ever 
distilled. 

« The AMiocxzX:'— Holmes. 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES, 141 

May 2gth. 
Why mourn the quiet ones who die 
Beneath affection's tender eye, 
Unto their household and their kin 
Like ripened corn-sheaves gathered in ? 
O weeper, from that tranquil sod, 
That holy harvest-home of God, 
Turn to the quick and suffering,— shed 
Thy tears upon the living dead! 
Thank God above thy dear ones' graves, 
They sleep with Him, — they are not 
slaves. 

" Derne."— Whittier. 

May joth. 
Take them, O Father, in immortal trust! 
Ashes to ashes, dust to kindred dust, 
Till the last angel rolls the stone away. 
And a new morning brings eternal day! 

" Pittsfield Cemetery."— Holmes. 



142 BEAUTIFUL TS0UGHT8 

May J I St. 
Of all we loved and honored, naught 

Save power remains — 
A fallen angel's pride of thought, 

Still strong in chains. 

All else is gone ; from those great eyes 

The soul has fled: 
When faith is lost, when honor dies, 

The man is dead! 

Then, pay the reverence of old days 

To his dead fame; 
Walk backward, with averted gaze. 

And hide the shame! 

« Ichabod."— WhitHer. 



JUNE, 



June I St. 
All through the long, bright days of June, 

Its leaves grew green and fair, 
And waved in hot midsummer's noon 

Its soft and yellow hair. 

" The Huskers."— Whittier. 

June 2d. 
Dear friends, who read the world aright, 

And in its common forms discern 
A beauty and a harmony 

The many never learn! 

Kindred in soul of him who found 
In simple flower and leaf and stone 

The impulse of the sweetest lays 
Our Saxon tongue has known, — 

145 



146 BEAUTIFUL THOUOHTS 

Accept this record of a life 

As sweet and pure, as calm and good, 
As a long day of blandest June 

In green field and in wood. 

" Wordsworth."— Whittier. 

June ^d. 
There breathes no being but has some 

pretense 
To that fine instinct called poetic sense; 
The rudest savage roaming through the 

wild, 
The simplest rustic, bending o'er his 

child. 
The infant listening to the warbling bird, 
The mother smiling at its half-formed 

word ; 
The boy uncaged, who tracks the fields 

at large. 
The girl, turned matron to her babe-like 

charge; 



FEOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 147 

The freeman, casting with unpurchased 

hand 
The vote that shakes the turrets of the 

land; 
The slave, who, slumbering on his rusted 

chain, 
Dreams of the palm-trees on his burning 

plain ; 
The hot-cheeked reveler, tossing down 

the wine. 
To join the chorus pealing **Auld lang 

syne." 

«' A Metrical Essay." — Holmes. 

June 4th. 
He loved his friends, forgave his foes ; 
And, if his words were harsh at 
times, 
He spared his fellow-men — his blows 
Fell only on their crimes. 



148 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

He loved the good and wise, but found 

His human heart to all akin 
Who met him on the common ground 

Of suffering and of sin. 

" My Namesake." — Whittier. 

June ^th. 
I love the old melodious lays 
Which softly melt the ages through, 

The songs of Spenser's golden days, 
Arcadian Sidney's silvery phrase, 
Sprinkling our noon of time with fresh- 
est morning dew. 

Yet, vainly in my quiet hours 
To breathe their marvelous notes I try : 
I feel them, as the leaves and 

flowers 
In silence feel the dewy showers. 
And drink with glad still lips the blessing 
of the sky. 

" Proem." — Whittier, . 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 149 

June 6th. 
Dear to his age were memories such as 

these, 
Leaves of his June in life's autumnal 

breeze ; 
Such were the tales that won my boyish 

ear, 
Told in low tones that evening loves to 

hear. 

*' Astraea." — Holmes. 

June yth. 
O, for boyhood's time of June, 
Crowding years in one brief moon, 
When all things I heard or saw. 
Me, their master waited for. 
I was rich in flowers and trees. 
Humming-birds and honey-bees; 
For my sport the squirrel played, 
Plied the snouted mole his spade; 
For my taste the blackberry cone 



150 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Purpled over hedge and stone ; 
Laughed the brook for my delight 
Through the day and through the night. 
Whispering at the garden wall, 
Talked with me from fall to fall ; 
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, 
Mine the walnut slopes beyond. 
Mine, on bending orchard trees. 
Apples of Hesperides! 

" The Barefoot Boy."— Whittier. 

June 8th. 
Father! for Thy holy sake 

We are spoiled and hunted thus; 
Joyful, for Thy truth we take 

Bonds and burthens unto us: 
Poor, and weak, and robbed of all. 

Weary with our daily task, 
That Thy truth may never fall 

Through our weakness, Lord, we ask. 

« The Familist's Hymn."— Whittier, 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 151 

June gth. 
Run, if you like, but try to keep your 

breath ; 
Work like a man, but don't be worked 

to death; 
And with new notions,— let me change 

the rule, — 
Don't strike the iron till it's slightly cool. 

" Urania." — Holmes. 

June loth. 
Where, oh where are the visions of 
morning. 
Fresh as the dews of our prime ? 
Gone, like tenants that quit without 
warning, 
Down the back entry of time. 

Where, oh where are life's lilies and 
roses. 
Nursed in the golden dawn's smile ? 



152 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Dead as the bulrushes round little Moses, 
On the old banks of the Nile. 

Where are the Marys, and Anns, and 
Elizas, 
Loving and lovely of yore ? 
Look in the columns of old Adver- 
tisers, — 
Married and dead by the score. 

"Questions and Answers." — Holmes. 

June nth. 
Ah, the dead, the unforgot! 
From their solemn homes of thought, 
Where the cypress shadows blend 
Darkly over foe and friend. 
Or in love or sad rebuke. 
Back upon the living look. 

And the tenderest ones and weakest. 
Who their wrongs have borne the 
meekest 



FEOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 153 

Lifting from those dark, still places, 
Sweet and sad-remembered faces, 
O'er the guilty hearts behind 
An unwitting triumph find. 

« The New Wife and the Old."— Whittier. 

June 1 2th. 
I dare not publicly name the rare joys, 
the infinite delights, that intoxicate me 
on some sweet June morning, when the 
river and bay are smooth as a sheet of 
beryl-green silk, and I run along ripping 
it up with my knife-edged shell of a 
boat, the rent closing after me like those 
wounds of Angels which Milton tells us 
of, but the seam still shining for many a 
long rood behind me. 

" The K\Aozxz.V-- Holmes. 

June i^th. 
Then bursts the song from every leafy 
glade, 



154 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

The yielding season's bridal serenade; 
Then flash the wings returning summer 

calls 
Through the deep arches of her forest 

halls ; 
The bluebird breathing from his azure 

plumes 
The fragrance borrowed where the 

myrtle blooms; 
The thrush, poor wanderer, dropping 

meekly down. 
Clad in his remnant of autumnal 

brown; 
The oriole, drifting like a flake of fire 
Rent by the whirlwind from a blazing 

spire; 
The robin, jerking his spasmodic throat, 
Repeats, staccato, his peremptory note; 
The crack-brained bobolink courts his 

crazy mate, 



FBOM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 155 

Poised on a bulrush tipsy with his 

weight; 
Nay, in his cage the lone canary sings, 
Feels the soft air and spreads his idle 

wings. 

" Astraea." — Holmes. 

June 14th. 
Thou glorious island of the sea! 

Though wide the wasting flood 
That parts our distant land from thee, 

We claim thy generous blood; 
Nor o'er thy far horizon springs 

One hallowed star of fame, 
But kindles, like an angel's wings, 

Our western skies in flame! 

" ^oug:'— Holmes. 

June i^th. 
Oh ! when the soul, once pure and high, 
Is stricken down from Virtue's sky, 



156 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

As, with the downcast star of morn, 
Some gems of light are with it drawn — 
And, through its night of darkness, play 
Some tokens of its primal day — 
Some lofty feelings linger still — 
The strength to dare, the nerve to meet 
Whatever threatens with defeat 
Its all-indomitable will! — 
But lacks the mean of mind and heart, 
Though eager for the gains of crime, 
Oft, at this chosen place and time, 
The strength to bear this evil part; 
And, shielded by this very Vice, 
Escapes from Crime by Cowardice. 

« Mogg Megone." — Whittier. 

June 1 6th. 

Child of the soil, whom fortune sends to 
range 

Where man and nature, faith and cus- 
toms change. 



FROM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 157 

Borne in thy memory, each familiar 
tone 

Mourns on the winds that sigh in every 
zone. 

When Ceylon sweeps thee with her per- 
fumed breeze 

Through the warm billows of the Indian 
seas; 

When, — ship and shadow blended both 
in one, — 

Flames o'er thy mast the equatorial sun, 

From sparkling midnight to refulgent 
noon 

Thy canvas swelling with the still mon- 
soon; 

When through thy shrouds the wild 
tornado sings, 

And thy poor seabird folds her tattered 
wings. 

Oft will delusion o'er thy senses steal, 



158 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

And airy echoes ring the Sabbath peal ! 

Then, dim with grateful tears, in long 
array 

Rise the fair town, the island-studded 
bay, 

Home, with its smiling board, its cheer- 
ing fire. 

The half-choked welcome of the expect- 
ing sire. 

The mother's kiss, and, still if aught 
remain. 

Our whispering hearts shall aid the silent 
strain. — 

Ah, let the dreamer o'er the taffrail lean 

To muse unheeded, and to weep unseen ; 

Fear not the tropic's dews, the evening's 
chills. 

His heart lies warm among his triple 
hills! 

" Urania." — Holmes. 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 159 

June lyth. 
While o'er their ashes the starry fold 
flying 
Wraps the proud eagle they roused 
from his nest. 
Borne on her northern pine, 
Long o'er the foaming brine 
Spread her broad banner to storm and to 
sun; 
Heaven keep her ever free, 
Wide as o'er land and sea 
Floats the fair emblem her heroes have 
won. 

" Lexington."— Whittier. 

June i8th. 
If one's intimate in love or friendship 
cannot or does not share all one's in- 
tellectual tastes or pursuits, that is a 
small matter. Intellectual companions 
can be found easily in men and books. 



160 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

After all, if we think of it, most of the 
world's loves and friendships have been 
between people that could not read nor 
spell. 

" The Autocrat," — Hohnes. 

June ipth. 
I love thee with a brother's love, 

I feel my pulses thrill, 
To mark thy spirit soar above 

The cloud of human ill. 
My heart hath leaped to answer thine, 

And echo back thy words, 
As leaps the warrior's at the shine 

And flash of kindred swords! 

" To W. L. G."— Whittier. 

June 2oth, 
Once more the pulse of Nature glows 

With faster throb and fresher fire. 
While music round her pathway flows 

Like echoes from a hidden lyre. 



FROM WRITTIEB AND HOLMES. 161 

And is there none with me to share 
The glories of the earth and sky ? 

The eagle through the pathless air 
Is followed by one burning eye. 

" From a Bachelor's Private Journal." — Holmes. 

June 21 St. 
As lost and void, as dark and cold 
And formless as that earth of old, — 
A wondering waste of storm and night. 
Midst spheres of song and realms of 

light,— 
A blot upon Thy holy sky. 
Untouched, unwarned of thee, am I. 

O Thou who movest on the deep 
Of spirits, wake my own from sleep! 
Its darkness melt, its coldness warm, 
The lost restore, the ill transform. 
That flower and fruit henceforth may be 
Its grateful offering, worthy Thee. 

" Invocation." — Whittier. 



162 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

June 22d. 
Oh there are times 
When all this fret and tumult that we 

hear 
Do seem more stale than to the sexton's 
ear 
His own dull chimes. 

Ding dong! ding dong! 
The world is in a simmer like a sea 
Over a pent volcano, — woe is me 

All the day long ! 

« Daily Trials:'— Holmes. 

June 2jd. 
Dear listening soul, this transitory scene 
Of murmuring stillness, busily serene; 
This solemn pause, the breathing-space 

of man, 
The halt of toil's exhausted caravan, 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 163 

Comes sweet with music to thy wearied 

ear; 
Rise with its anthems to a holier sphere! 
Deal meekly, gently, with the hopes that 

guide 
The lowliest brother straying from thy 

side; 
If right, they bid thee tremble for thine 

own, 
If wrong, the verdict is for God alone! 

" Urania." — Holmes. 

June 24th. 
Let us then, uniting, bury 

All our idle feuds in dust. 
And to future conflicts carry 
Mutual faith and common trust; 
Always he who most forgiveth in his 
brother is most just. 

"'Lm.ts.''—Whittur. 



164 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

June 2^th. 
Breathed o'er the wanderers of the field, 

Like their own bridal bower; 
Yet, saddened by its loveliness, 

And humbled by its pride, 
Earth's fairest child they could not bless, — 

It mocked them when they sighed. 

" A VoxirzW—Holtms. 

June 26th. 
Whate'er his neighbors might endure 

Of pain or grief his own became; 
For all the ills he could not cure 

He held himself to blame. 

His good was mainly an intent, 
His evil not of forethought done; 

The work he wrought was rarely meant 
Or finished as begun. 

Ill served his tides of feeling strong 
To turn the common mills of use; 



FEOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 165 

And, over restless wings a song, 
His birthright garb hung loose! 

« My Namesake." — WhittUr. 

June 2yth. 

If glorious visions, born for all mankind, 

The bright auroras of our twilight mind; 

If fancies, varying as the shapes that lie 

Stained on the windows of the sunset 
sky; 

If hopes, that beckon with delusive 
gleams. 

Till the eye dances in the void of dreams; 

If passions, following with the winds 
that urge 

Earth's wildest wanderer to her farthest 
verge;— 

If these on all some transient hours be- 
stow 

Of rapture tingling with its hectic glow, 



166 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Then all are poets; and, if earth had 

rolled 
Her myriad centuries, and her doom were 

told. 
Each moaning billow of her shoreless 

wave 
Would wail its requiem o'er a poet's 



grave 



« Voeixy:'— Holmes. 

June 28th. 
Our fathers to their graves have gone; 
Their strife is past — their triumph won; 
But sterner trials wait the race 
Which rises in their honored place — 
A moral warfare with the crime 
And folly of an evil time. 

So let it be. In God's own might 
We gird us for the coming fight. 
And, strong in Him whose cause is ours 
In conflict with unholy powers, 



FROM WHITTIEE AND HOLMES. 167 

We grasp the weapons He has given,— 
The Light, and Truth, and Love of 
Heaven ! 

« The Moral Warfare."— Whittier. 

June 29th. 
It was in this stillness of the world 
without and of the soul within that the 
pulsating lullaby of the evening crickets 
use-d to make itself most distinctly heard, 
so that I well remember I used to think 
the purring of these little creatures, which 
mingled with the batrachian hymns from 
the neighboring swamp, was peculiar to 
Saturday evenings. I don't know that 
anything could give a clearer idea of the 
quieting and subduing effect of the old 
habit of observance of what was consid- 
ered holy time, than this strange, childish 
fancy. 

« The K-qS.ocxz.V —Holmes. 



168 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

June joth. 
Mine ancient Chair! thy wide-embracing 
arms 
Have clasped around me even from 
a boy ; 
Hadst thou a voice to speak of years 
gone by, 
Thine were a tale of sorrow and of 

joy. 

Of fevered hopes and ill-foreboding 

fears, 
And smile unseen, and unrecorded tears. 

" To My Companions." — Holmes. 



JULY. 



July I St. 

Sweet is the scene where genial friend- 
ship plays 

The pleasing games of interchanging 
praise; 

Self-love, grimalkin of the human heart, 

Is ever pliant to the master's art; 

Soothed with a word, she peacefully 
withdraws 

And sheathes in velvet her obnoxious 
claws, 

And thrills the hand that smooths her 
glossy fur 

With the light tremor of her grateful 
purr. 

But what sad music fills the quiet hall. 
If on her back a feline rival fall; 

171 



172 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

And oh, what noises shake the tranquil 

house, 
If old Self-interest cheats her of a mouse! 

" Terpsichore." — Holmes. 

July 2d. 

Not he whose utterance now from lips 
designed 

The bugle-march of Liberty to wind, 

And call her hosts beneath the breaking 
Hght,- 

The keen reveille of her morn of fight, — 
Is but the hoarse note of the blood- 
hound's baying, 

The wolfs long howl behind the bond- 
man's flight! 

O for the tongue of him who lies at rest 
In Quincy's shade of patrimonial 
trees, — 

Last of the Puritan tribunes and the 
best, — 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES, 173 

To lend a voice to Freedom's sym- 
pathies, 
And hail the coming of the noblest guest 
The Old World's wrong has given the 
New World of the West! 

" Kossuth." — Whittier. 

July Jd, 
Oh Freedom ! if to me belong 
Nor mighty Milton's gift divine, 

Nor Marvel's wit and graceful 

song, 
Still with a love as deep and strong 
As theirs, 1 lay, like them, my best gifts 
on thy shrine! 

" Proem."— Whittier. 

July 4th. 
When Freedom, on her natal day. 
Within her war-rocked cradle lay, 
An iron race around her stood, 



174 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Baptized her infant brow in blood 
And, through the storm which round 

her swept, 
Their constant ward and watching 

kept. 

Then, where our quiet herds repose. 
The roar of baleful battle rose. 
And brethren of a common tongue 
To mortal strife as tigers sprung, 
And every gift on Freedom's shrine 
Was man for beast, and blood for 
wine! 

"The Moral Warfare."— /^/^zV/?Vn 

Go, ring the bells and fire the guns, 
And fling the starry banner out; 

Shout *' Freedom! '' till your lisping ones 
Give back their cradle-shout : 

Let boastful eloquence declaim, 

Of honor, liberty, and fame; 



FROM WHITTIER AND HOLMES, 175 

Still let the poet's strain be heard, 
With glory for each second word, 
And everything with breath agree 
To praise ''our glorious liberty! " 

" The Prisoner for Debt."— Whittier. 

July ^th. 

Oh! speed the moment on 

When Wrong shall cease— and Liberty, 

and Love, 
And Truth, and Right, throughout the 
earth be known 
As in their home above. 

" Clerical Oppressions." — Whittier. 

July 6th. 
I think most readers of Shakespeare 
sometimes find themselves thrown into 
exalted mental conditions like those pro- 
duced by music. Then they may drop 
the book, to pass at once into the region 



176 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

of thought without words. We may 
happen to be very dull folks, you and I, 
and probably are, unless there is some 
particular reason to suppose the contrary. 
But we get glimpses now and then of a 
sphere of spiritual possibilities, where 
we, dull as we are now, may sail in vast 
circles round the largest compass of 
earthly intelligences. 

" The Autocrat." — Holmes. 

July yth. 
If when an earthquake voice of power, 
And signs in earth and heaven are 
showing 
That, forth, in its appointed hour, 
The Spirit of the Lord is going! 
And, with that Spirit, Freedom's light 
On kindred, tongue, and people break- 
ing, 



FBOM WHITTIER AND HOLMES, 111 

Whose slumbering millions, at the sight, 
In glory and in strength are waking! 

" Pastoral Letter."— Whittier. 

July 8th. 
Shun such as lounge through afternoons 

and eves, 
And on thy dial write ''Beware of 

thieves! " 
Felon of minutes, never taught to feel 
The worth of treasures which thy fingers 

steal, 
Pick my left pocket of its silver dime, 
But spare the right,— it holds my golden 

time! 

" Urania." — Holmes. 

July gth. 
If to embody in a breathing word 
Tones that the spirit trembled when it 
heard ; 



178 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

To fix the image all unveiled and warm, 
And carve in language its ethereal form, 
So pure, so perfect, that the lines express 
No meagre shrinking, no unlaced excess; 
To feel that art, in living truth, has taught 
Ourselves, reflected in the sculptured 

thought; — 
If this alone bestow the right to claim 
The deathless garland and the sacred 

name; 
Then none are poets, save the saints on 

high, 
Whose harps can murmur all that words 

deny! 

" Poetry." — Holmes. 

July lOth. 
Half hidden in a quiet nook, serene of 

look and heart. 
Talking their old times over, the old men 

sat apart; 



FB03I WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 179 

While, up and down the unhusked pile, 

or nestling in its shade. 
At hide-and-seek, with laugh and shout, 

the happy children played. 

" The Huskers."— Whittier. 

July nth. 

Spirit of Beauty ! let thy graces blend 

With loveliest Nature all that Art can 
lend. 

Come from the bowers where Summer's 
lifeblood flows 

Through the red lips of June's half-open 
rose, 

Dressed in bright hues, the loving sun- 
shine's dower; 

For tranquil Nature owns no mourning 
flower. 

Come from the forest where the beech's 
screen 



180 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Bars the fierce noonbeam with its flakes 

of green; 
Stay the rude axe that bares the shadowy 

plains, 
Stanch the deep wound that dries the 

maple's veins. 

" Pittsfield Cemetery."— Holmes. 



July 1 2th. 
Still shines the light of holy lives 

Like star-beams over doubt; 
Each sainted memory, Christlike, drives 

Some dark possession out. 

O friend! O brother! not in vain 

Thy life so calm and true, 
The silver dropping of the rain. 

The fall of summer dew! 

" William Forster. " — Whittier. 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 181 

July ijth. 
Thou knowest my heart, dear friend, 

and well canst guess 
That, even though silent, I have not 

the less 
Rejoiced to see thy actual life agree 
With the large future which I shaped for 

thee. 
When, years ago, besides the summer 

sea, 
White in the moon, we saw the loncf 

waves fall 
Baffled and broken from the rocky wall. 
That, to the menace of the brawling 

flood, 
Opposed alone its massive quietude. 
Calm as a fate; with not a leaf nor 

vine 
Nor birch-spray trembling in the still 

moonshine 



182 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Crowning it like God's peace. I some- 
times think 
That night-scene by the sea prophet- 
ical— 

(For nature speaks in symbols and in 
signs, 

And through her pictures human fate 
divines) — 

That rock, wherefrom we saw the 
billows sink 
In murmuring rout, uprising clear and 
tall 

In the white light of heaven, the type of one 

Who, momently by Error's host assailed, 

Stands strong as Truth, in greaves of 
granite mailed; 
And, tranquil-fronted, listening over all 

The tumult, hears the angels say. Well 
done! 

" To C. S."— Whittier. 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 183 

July 14th. 
It is a fine thing to be an oracle to 
which an appeal is always made in all dis- 
cussions. The men of facts wait their turn 
in grim silence^ with that slight tension 
about the nostrils, which the conscious- 
ness of carrying a ** settler" in the form 
of a fact or a revolver gives the individ- 
ual thus armed. When a person is really 
full of information, and does not abuse 
it to crush conversation, his part is to 
that of the real talkers what the instru- 
mental accompaniment is in a trio or 
quartette of vocalists. 

" The Autocrat." — Holmes. 



July i^th. 
Good-bye to Pain and Care! I take 
Mine ease to-day ; 



184 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Here where these sunny waters break, 
And ripples this keen breeze, I shake 
All burdens from the heart, all weary 
thoughts away. 

I draw a freer breath— I seem 

Like all I see — 
Waves in the sun — the white-winged 

gleam 
Of sea-birds in the slanting beam — 
And far-off sails which flit before the 
South wind free. 

« Hampton Beach." — IVkiltier. 



July 1 6th. 
Thanksgiving to the Lord of life!— to 

Him all praises be. 
Who from the hands of evil men hath 

set His handmaid free. 



FBOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 185 

All praise to Him before whose power 

the mighty are afraid, 
Who takes the crafty in the snare, which 

for the poor is laid! 

«* Cassandra South wick." — Whittier. 

July lyth. 
But, like a child in ocean's arms, 

We strive against the stream, 
Each moment farther from the shore. 

Where life's young fountains gleam; — 
Each moment fainter wave the fields. 

And wider rolls the sea; 
The mist grows dark, — the sun goes 
down, — 

Day breaks, — and where are we ? 

" Departed Days." — Holmes. 

July 1 8th. 
O, for boyhood's painless play. 
Sleep that wakes in laughing day. 



186 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Health that mocks the doctor's rules, 
Knowledge never learned of schools, 
Of the wild bee's morning chase, 
Of the wild-flower's time and place, 
Flight of fowl and habitude 
Of the tenants of the wood; 
How the tortoise bears his shell, 
How the woodchuck digs his cell, 
And the ground-mole sinks his well; 
How the robin feeds her young. 
How the oriole's nest is hung; 
Where the whitest lilies blow, 
Where the freshest berries grow. 
Where the ground-nut trails its vine. 
Where the wood-grape's clusters shine; 
Of the black wasp's cunning way, 
Mason of his walls of clay, 
And the architectural plans 
Of gray hornet artisans! — 
For, eschewing books and tasks, 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 187 

Nature answers all he asks; 
Hand in hand with her he walks, 
Face to face with her he talks, 
Part and parcel of her joy, — 
Blessings on the barefoot boy ! 

« The Barefoot Boy."— Whittier. 



July igth. 

These lines may teach, rough-spoken 

though they be, 
Thy gentle creed, divinest Charity! 
Truth is at heart not always as she seems, 
Judged by our sleeping or our waking 

dreams. 

We trust and doubt, we question and 

believe, 
From life's dark threads a trembling faith 

to weave. 



188 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Frail as the web that misty night has 

spun, 
Whose dew-gemmed awnings glitter in 

the sun. 

"Astraea." — Holmes. 

July 20th. 
Between me and the hot fields of his 

South 
A tremulous glow, as from a furnace- 
mouth, 
Glimmers and swims before my daz- 
zled sight, 
As if the burning arrows of his ire 
Broke as they fell, and shattered into 
light! 
Yet on my cheek I feel the Western wind, 
And hear it telling to the orchard trees, 
And to the faint and flower-forsaken 
bees, 



FUOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES, 189 

Tales of fair meadows, green with 
constant streams, 
And mountains rising blue and cool be- 
hind, 
Where in moist dells the purple orchis 
gleams, 
And starred with white the virgin's bower 
is twined. 

" Pictures."— Whittier. 

July 21 St. 
If sometimes in the dark blue eye, 

Or in the deep red wine. 
Or soothed by gentlest melody. 

Still warms this heart of mine, 
Yet something colder in the blood. 

And calmer in the brain, 
Have whispered that my youth's bright 
flood 

Ebbs, not to flow again. 

" An Evening Thought:'— Bolmes. 



190 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

July 22d. 
Our ancient church ! its lowly tower, 

Beneath the loftier spire, 
Is shadowed when the sunset hour 

Clothes the tall shaft in fire; 
It sinks beyond the distant eye, 

Long ere the glittering vane, 
High wheeling in the western sky. 

Has faded o'er the plain. 

" Voeiry."— Holmes. 

July 2^d. 
Fling, from thy Capitol, 

Thy banner to the light. 
And, o'er thy Charter's sacred scroll, 

For Freedom and the Right, 
Breathe once again thy vows, unbroken - 
Speak once again as thou hast spoken. 

On thy bleak hills, speak out! 

A WORLD thy words shall hear; 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 191 

And they who listen round about, 

In friendship, or in fear, 
Shall know thee still, when sorest tried, 
"Unshaken and unterrified!" 

" Massachusetts."— Whittier. 

July 24th. 
The very flowers that bend and meet, 
In sweetening others, grow more sweet; 
The clouds by day, the stars by night, 
Inweave their floating locks of light; 
The rainbow. Heaven's own forehead's 

braid. 
Is but the embrace of sun and shade. 

" The Philosopher to his Love." — Hohnes. 

July 2^th. 
Beneath the westward-turning eye 
A thousand wooded islands lie — 
Gems of the waters! — with each hue 
Of brightness set in ocean's blue. 
Each bears aloft its tuft of trees 



192 BEAUTIFUL THOUORTS 

Touched by the pencil of the frost, 
And, with the motion of each breeze, 

A moment seen — a moment lost — 

Changing and blent, confused and 
tossed, 

The brighter with the darker crossed, 
Their thousand tints of beauty glow 
Down in the restless waves below. 

And tremble in the sunny skies. 
As if, from waving bough to bough. 

Flitted the birds of paradise. 

" Mogg Megone." — Whittier. 

July 26th. 
The lily hath the softest leaf 

That ever western breeze hath fanned. 
But thou shalt have the tender flower, 

So I may take thy hand; 
That little hand to me doth yield 
More joy than all the broidered field. 

" Stanzas." — Holmes. 



FROM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 193 

July 2yth. 
Earnest words must needs be spoken 

When the warm heart bleeds or burns 
With its scorn of wrong, or pity 

For the wronged, by turns. 

"But, by all thy nature's weakness, 
Hidden faults and follies known, 

Be thou, in rebuking evil, 
Conscious of thine own.' 

«' What the Voice Said."— Whittier. 

July 28th. 

When Glory wakes, when fiery spirits 
leap. 

Roused by her accents from their tran- 
quil sleep, 

The ray that flashes from the soldier's 
crest. 

Lights, as it glances, in the poet's 
breast; — 



194 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Not in pale dreamers, whose fantastic lay 

Toys with smooth trifles like a child at 
play, 

But men, who act the passions they in- 
spire, 

Who wave the sabre as they sweep the 
lyre! 

« Poetry." — Holmes. 

July 2pth. 
So must it be; the weaker, wiser race, 
That wields the tempest and that rides 
the sea. 
Even in the stillness of thy solitude 
Must teach the lesson of its power to 
thee; 
And thou, the terror of the trembling 

wild. 
Must bow thy savage strength, the 
mockery of a child! 

" To a Caged Lion." — Holmes. 



FBOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 195 

July JOth. 
The simple tastes, the kindly traits, 

The tranquil air, and gentle speech. 
The silence of the soul that waits 

For more than man to teach. 

The cant of party, school, and sect. 
Provoked at times his honest scorn 

And Folly, in its gray respect. 
He tossed on satire's horn. 

But still his heart was full of awe 
And reverence for all sacred things; 

And, brooding over form and law, 
He saw the Spirit's wings! 

« My Namesake." — Whittier. 

July J I St. 
There is a mother-idea in each particu- 
lar kind of tree, which, if well marked, 
is probably embodied in the poetry of 



196 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

every language. Take the oak, for in- 
stance, and we find it always standing as 
a type of strength and endurance. I 
wonder if you ever thought of the single 
mark of supremacy which distinguishes 
this tree from all our other forest trees ? 
All the rest of them shirk the work of re- 
sisting gravity; the oak alone defies it. 
It chooses the horizontal direction for its 
limbs, so that their whole weight may 
tell,— and then stretches them out fifty or 
sixty feet, so that the strain may be 
mighty enough to be worth resisting. 

" The KvAocxdA."— Holmes, 



AUGUST. 



August I St. 
Cheerily, then, my little man, 
Live and laugh, as boyhood can ! 
Though the flinty slopes be hard, 
Stubble-speared the new-mown sward. 
Every morn shall lead thee through 
Fresh baptisms of the dew ; 
Every evening from thy feet 
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat: 
All too soon these feet must hide 
In the prison cells of pride. 
Lose the freedom of the sod, 
Like a colt's for work be shod. 
Made to tread the mills of toil. 
Up and down in ceaseless moil : 
Happy if their track be found 
Never on forbidden ground; 

199 



200 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Happy if they sink not in 
Quick and treacherous sands of sin. 
Ah ! that thou couldst know thy joy, 
Ere it passes, barefoot boy ! 

" The Barefoot Boy."— WhittUr. 

August 2d. 
It is enough for such to be 

Of common, natural things a part, 
To feel with bird and stream and tree 
The pulses of the same great heart; 
But we, from Nature long exiled 
In our cold homes of Art and 
Thought, 
Grieve like the stranger-tended child, 
Which seeks its mother's arms, and sees 
but feels them not. 

« The Daughter."— Whittier, 

August ^d. 
Though books on manners are not out of 
print. 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 201 

An honest tongue may drop a harmless 

hint. 
Stop not, unthinking, every friend you 

meet, 
To spin your wordy fabric in the street; 
While you are emptying your colloquial 

pack, 
The fiend Lumbago jumps upon his 

back. 
Nor cloud his features with the unwel- 
come tale 
Of how he looks, if haply thin and 

pale; 
Health is a subject for his child, his 

wife. 
And the rude oifice that insures his life. 

«« Urania." — Holmes. 

August 4th. 
Memory is a net: one finds it full of 
fish when he takes it from the brook; 



202 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

but a dozen miles of water have run 
through it without sticking. 

« H: 4: :{: 4c 

Laughter and tears are meant to turn 
the wheels of the same machinery of 
sensibility; one is wind-power, and the 
other water-power ; that is all. 

« The KVA.OCXZ.V'— Holmes. 

August ^th. 
The hills we climbed, the river seen 
By gleams along its deep ravine, — 
All keep thy memory fresh and green. 

Where'er 1 look, where'er I stray, 
Thy thought goes with me on my way, 
And hence the prayer I breathe to-day ! 

" Benedicite."— Whittier. 

August 6th. 
So the o'erwearied pilgrim, as he fares 
Along life's summer waste, at times is 
fanned. 



FROM WHITTIEB AND H0L3IES. 203 

Even at noontide, by the cool, sweet 
airs 
Of a serener and a holier land, 
Fresh as the morn, and as the dewfall 
bland. 
Breath of the blessed Heaven for which 

we pray. 
Blow from the eternal hills! — make glad 
our earthly way! 

" Pictures."— Whittier. 

August yth. 
Father of all! in Death's relentless claim 
We read Thy mercy by its sterner name; 
In the bright flower that decks the 

solemn bier. 
We see Thy glory in its narrowed 

sphere ; 
In the deep lessons that affliction draws, 
We trace the curves of Thy encircling 

laws; 



204 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

In the long sigh that sets our spirits free, 
We own the love that calls us back to 
Thee! 

" Pittsfield Cemetery."— Holmes. 

August 8th. 
As the large, round disk of day de- 
clined, a stillness, a solemnity, a some- 
what melancholy hush came over us all. 
It was time for work to cease, and for 
playthings to be put away. The world 
of active life passed into the shadow of 
an eclipse, not to emerge until the sun 
should sink again beneath the horizon. 

" The A.MiocxdX.'"— Holmes. 

August pth. 
There trailed the vine in Summer 
hours — 
The tree-perched squirrel dropped 
. his shell — 



FROM WHtTTIER AND HOLMES. 205 



On velvet moss and pale-hued flow^ers, 
Woven with leaf and spray, the softened 
sunshine fell! 

The Indian's heart is hard and cold — 
It closes darkly o'er its care, 

And, formed in Nature's sternest 
mould, 
Is slow to feel, and strong to bear. 

"The Daughter."— W^y^iV/iVr. 

August lOth. 
A glimmer of heat was in the air,— 

The dark green woods were still; 
And the skirts of a heavy thunder-cloud 

Hung over the western hill. 

Black, thick, and vast, arose that cloud 

Above the wilderness. 
As some dark world from upper air 

Were stooping over this. 



206 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

At times, the solemn thunder pealed, 

And all was still again, 
Save a low murmur in the air 

Of coming wind and rain. 

« The Exiles."— Whittier, 

August nth. 
See how yon flaming herald treads 

The ridged and rolling waves, 
As, crashing o'er their crested heads, 

She bows her surly slaves ! 
With foam before and fire behind. 

She rends the clinging sea. 
That flies before the roaring wind. 

Beneath her hissing lee. 

The morning spray, like sea-born flowers, 
With heaped and glistening bells. 

Falls round her fast, in ringing showers, 
With every wave that swells ; 

And, burning o'er the midnight deep, 



FROM WRITTIEB AND HOLMES. 207 

In lurid fringes thrown, 
The living gems of ocean sweep 
Along her flashing zone. 

" The Stta.mho2A." —Ilolmes, 

August I2th, 
As a cloud of the sunset, slow melting in 

heaven. 
As a star that is lost when the daylight 

is given. 
As a glad dream of slumber, which 

wakens in bliss. 
She hath passed to the world of the holy 

from this. 

« A Lament."— Wkittier, 

August Ijth. 
For ever as these lines are penned, 
Still with the thought of thee will blend 
That of some loved and common friend — 



208 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Who in life's desert track has made 
His pilgrim tent with mine, or strayed 
Beneath the same remembered shade. 

And hence my pen unfettered moves 
In freedom which the heart approves — 
The negligence which friendship loves. 

" Ego."— Whittier. 

August 14th. 
Sweet image! I have done thee wrong 

To claim this destined lay ; 
The leaf that asked an idle song 

Must bear my tears away. 
Yet, in thy memory shouldst thou keep 

This else forgotten strain. 
Till years have taught thine eyes to weep 

And flattery's voice is vain; 
Oh, then, thou fledgling of the nest, 

Like the long-wandering dove, 
Thy weary heart may faint for rest. 



FROM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 209 

As mine, on changeless love; 
And, while these sculptured lines retrace 

The hours now dancing by. 
This vision of thy girlish grace 

May cost thee, too, a sigh. 

" The Only Daughter."— ^i?/w«. 

August I^th. 
Thine was the seed-time; God alone 
Beholds the end of what is sown; 
Beyond our vision, weak and dim, 
The harvest-time is hid with Him. 

Yet, unforgotten where it lies, 
That seed of generous sacrifice. 
Though seeming on the desert cast. 
Shall rise with bloom and fruit at last. 

" The Cross."— Whittier. 

August 1 6th. 
New England! proudly may thy chil- 
dren claim 



210 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Their honored birthright by its humblest 

name! 
Cold are thy skies, but, ever fresh and 

clear. 
No rank malaria stains thine atmosphere; 
No fungous weeds invade thy scanty soil, 
Scarred by the ploughshares of unslum- 

bering toil. 
Long may the doctrines by thy sages 

taught, 
Raised from the quarries where their sires 

have wrought, 
Be like the granite of thy rock-ribbed 

land, — 
As slow to rear, as obdurate to stand; 
And as the ice, that leaves thy crystal 

mine. 
Chills the fierce alcohol in the Creole's 

wine. 
So may the doctrines of thy sober school 



FliOM WHITTIEK AND HOLMES, 211 

Keep the hot theories of thy neighbors 
cool ! 

« Urania." — Holmes. 

August lyth. 
Men who exercise chiefly those facul- 
ties of the mind which work independ- 
ently of the will, poets and artists, for 
instance, who follow their imagination in 
the creative movements, instead of keep- 
ing it in hand as your logicians and prac- 
tical men do with their reasoning faculty, 
such men are too apt to call in the me- 
chanical appliances to help them govern 
their intellects. 

" The Autocrat." — Holmes. 

August 1 8th. 
Gentlest of spirits ! — not for thee 

Our tears are shed — our sighs are given : 
Why mourn to know thou art a free 

Partaker of the joys of Heaven ? 



212 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Finish'd thy work, and kept thy faith 
In Christian firmness unto death: 
And beautiful as sky and earth, 

When Autumn's sun is downward 
going, 
The blessed memory of thy worth 

Around thy place of slumber glowing! 

« To the Memory of Thomas Shipley."— Whittier. 

August I()th. 
White clouds, whose shadows haunt the 

deep. 
Light mists, whose soft embraces keep 
The sunshine on the hills asleep! 

O, isles of calm! — O, dark, still wood! 
And stiller skies that overbrood 
Your rest with deeper quietude! 

O, shapes and hues, dim beckoning, 
through 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 213 

Yon mountain gaps, my longing view 
Beyond the purple and the blue, 

To stiller sea and greener land, 

And softer lights and airs more bland, 

And skies — the hollow of God's hand ! 

Transfused through you, O mountain 

friend ! 
With mine your solemn spirit blends, 
And life no more hath separate ends. 

"Summer by the Lakeside." — Whittier. 

August 20th. 
I confess there are times when I feel 
like the friend I mentioned to you some 
time ago. I hate the very sight of a 
book. Sometimes it becomes almost a 
physical necessity to talk out what is in 
the mind before putting anything else 
into it. It is very bad to have thoughts 



214 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 



and feelings which were meant to come 
out in talk, sfn'hr in, as they say of some 
complaints that ought to show out- 
wardly. 

*' The Autocrat." — Holmes. 

August 2 1 St. 
He had his share of care and pain, 

No holiday was life to him; 
Still in the heirloom cup we drain 

The bitter drop will swim. 

Yet Heaven was kind, and here a bird 
And there a tlower beguiled his way; 

And. cool, in summer noons, he heard 
The fountains plash and play. 

» *« My Namesake." — WkUHer. 

August 22if. 

Oh, then, if gleams of truth and light 

Flash o'er thy waiting mind, 
Unfolding to thy mental sight 



FROM WHITTIEB AND EOLMES. 215 

The wants of human kind; 
If brooding over human grief, 

The earnest wish is known 
To soothe and gladden with relief 

An anguish not thine own: 

Though heralded with naught of fear, 

Or outward sign, or show: 
Though only to the inward ear 

It whispers soft and low; 
Though dropping, as the manna fell. 

Unseen, yet from above, 
Noiseless as dew-fall, heed it well — 

Thy Father's call of love! 

"The Call of the Christian."— /^/^iVif^Vf-. 

August 2^d. 
I look upon the fair blue skies. 

And naught but empty air I see; 
But when I turn me to thine eyes. 

It seemeth unto me 



216 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Ten thousand angels spread their wings 
Within those little azure rings. 

« Stanzas." — Holmes. 



August 24th, 
I call to mind the summer day, . 

The early harvest mowing, 
The sky with sun and clouds at play, 

And flowers with breezes blowing. 

I hear the blackbird in the corn, 

The locust in the haying; 
And, like the fabled hunter's horn. 

Old tunes my heart is playing. 

How oft that day, with fond delay, 
I sought the maple's shadow, 

And sang with Burns the hours away, 
Forgetful of the meadow ! 

«« Burns."— Whittier. 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 217 

August 2^th. 
And lo! as through the western pines, on 

meadow, stream and pond. 
Flamed the red radiance of a sky, set all 

afire beyond. 
Slowly o'er the Eastern sea-bluffs a 

milder glory shone. 
And the sunset and the moonrise were 

mingled into one! 

« The Huskers."— Whittier. 

August 26th. 
O gracious Mother, whose benignant 

breast 
Wakes us to life, and lulls us all to rest, 
How thy sweet features, kind to every 

clime, 
Mock with their smile the wrinkled front 

of time! 
We stain thy flowers, — they blossom o'er 

the dead: 



218 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

We rend thy bosom, and it gives us 

bread; 
O'er the red field that trampling strife 

has torn, 
Waves the green plumage of thy tasselled 

corn; 
Our maddening conflicts scar thy fairest 

plain. 
Still thy soft answer is the growing grain. 
Yet, O our Mother, while uncounted 

charms 
Round the fresh clasp of thine embracing 

arms. 
Let not our virtues in thy love decay. 
And thy fond weakness waste our 

strength away. 

« The Ploughman." — Holmes. 

August 2yth. 
The garden rose may richly bloom 
In cultured soil and genial air, 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 219 

To cloud the light of Fashion's room 
Or droop in Beauty's midnight hair, 

In lonelier grace, to sun and dew 
The sweet-briar on the hillside shows 

Its single leaf and fainter hue, 

Untrained and wildly free, yet still a 
sister rose ! 

" The Daughter."— Whittier. 

August 28th. 
My broken Mirror! faithless, yet be- 
loved, 
Thou who canst smile, and smile alike 
on all. 
Oft do I leave thee, oft again return, 
I scorn the siren, but obey the call; 
I hate thy falsehood, while I fear thy 

truth. 
But most I love thee, flattering friend of 
youth. 

" To My Companions." — Holmes, 



220 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

August 2gth. 

(^Holmes born, iSog.) 

Let kindly Silence close again, 
The picture vanish from the eye, 

And on the dim and misty main 
Let the small ripple die. 

Yet not the less I own your claim 
To grateful thanks, dear friends of 
mine. 

Hang, if it please you so, my name 
Upon your household line. 

Let Fame from brazen lips blow wide 
Her chosen names, 1 envy none: 

A mother's love, a father's pride, 
Shall keep alive my own! 

" My Namesake." — Whittier. 

August 20th. 
And thou sad Angel, who so long 
Hast waited for the glorious token, 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 221 

That Earth from all her bonds of wrong 
To liberty and light has broken — 

Angel of Freedom ! soon to thee 
The sounding trumpet shall be given, 

And over Earth's full jubilee 
Shall deeper joy be felt in Heaven ! 

" Lines." — Whittier. 

August ^ I St. 
There is nothing that happens, you 
know, which must not inevitably, and 
which does not actually, photograph it- 
self in every conceivable aspect and in all 
dimensions. The infinite galleries of the 
Past await but one brief process and all 
their pictures will be called out and fixed 
forever. We had a curious illustration 
of the great fact on a very humble scale. 
When a certain bookcase, long standing 
in one place, for which it was built, was 



BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 



removed, there was the exact image on 
the wall of the whole, and many of its 
portions. But in the midst of this pic- 
ture was another, — the precise outline 
of a map which had hung on the wall 
before the bookcase was built. We had 
all forgotten everything about the map 
until we saw its photograph on the wall. 
Then we remembered it, as some day 
or other we may remember a sin which 
has been built over and covered up, 
when this lower universe is pulled away 
from the wall of Infinity, where the 
wrong-doing stands, self-recorded. 

" The Autocrat." — Holmes. 



SEPTEMBER. 



September ist 

Is not Thy hand stretched forth 
Visibly in the heavens, to awe and smite ? 
Shall not the living God of all the earth, 

And heaven above, do right ? 

Woe, then, to all who grind 
Their brethren of a common - Father 

down! 
To all who plunder from the immortal 
mind 
Its bright and glorious crown! 

" Clerical Oppressors." — Whittier. 

September 2d. 
Simple in youth, but not austere in 

age; 
Calm, but not cold, and cheerful though 

a sage; 

225 



226 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Too true to flatter, and too kind to sneer, 

And only just when seemingly severe ; 

So gently blending courtesy and art, 

That wisdom's lips seemed borrowing 
friendship's heart; 

Taught by the sorrows that his age had 
known 

In others' trials to forget his own. 

As hour by hour his lengthened day de- 
clined. 

The sweeter radiance lingered o'er his 
mind. 

Cold were the lips that spoke his early 
praise. 

And hushed the voices of his morning 
days, 

Yet the same accents dwelt on every 
tongue, 

And love renewing kept him ever young. 

" Extracts from a Medical Poem." — Holmes, 



FEOM V/HITTIER AND HOLMES. 227 

September jd. 
Lift we the twilight curtains of the Past, 
And turning from familiar sight and 
sound 
Sadly and full of reverence let us cast 
A glance upon Tradition's shadowy 
ground, 
Led by the few pale lights, which, glim- 
mering round 
That dim, strange land of Eld, seem 
dying fast; 
And that which history gives not to the 

eye. 
The faded coloring of Time's tapestry. 
Let Fancy, with her dream-dipped brush 
supply. 

" The Bsisha.h&."—lVAii^ier. 

September 4th. 
He must be a poor creature that does 
not often repeat himself. Imagine the 



228 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

author of the excellent piece of advice, 
"Know thyself," never alluding to that 
sentiment again during the course of a 
protracted existence ! Why, the truths a 
man carries about with him are his tools; 
and do you think a carpenter is bound to 
use the same plane but once to smooth a 
knotty board with, or to hang up his 
hammer after it has driven its first 
nail? 

« The hvAocxaX:'— Holmes. 

September ^th. 
Well to suffer is divine; 
Pass the watchword down the line, 

Pass the countersign : "Endure." 
Not to him who rashly dares. 
But to him who nobly bears. 

Is the victor's garland sure. 

" Burial of Barbour."— Whiitier, 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 229 

September 6th. 

The gentle maid, whose azure eye grows 
dim, 

While Heaven is listening to her evening 
hymn; 

The jeweled beauty, when her steps 
draw near 

The circling dance and dazzling chan- 
delier; 

E'en trembling age, when Spring's re- 
newing air 

Waves the thin ringlets of his silvered 
hair; — 

All, all are glowing with the inward 
flame, 

Whose wider halo wreathes the poet's 
name, 

While, unembalmed, the silent dreamer 
dies. 

His memory passing with his smiles and 
sighs ! 

" Vottcy:^— Holmes. 



230 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

September yth. 

( Whittier died^ i8g2.) 

And now my spirit sighs for home, 
And longs for light whereby to see, 

And, like a weary child, would come, 
O Father, unto Thee ! 

« The Wish of To-day."— Whittier. 

September 8th. 
Farewell! A little time, and we 

Who knew thee well, and loved thee 
here 
One after one shall follow thee 

As pilgrims through the gate of fear, 
Which opens on eternity. 
Yet shall we cherish not the less 

All that is left our hearts meanwhile; 
The memory of thy loveliness 

Shall round our weary pathway smile. 
Like moonlight when the sun has set — 
A sweet and tender radiance yet. 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 231 

Thoughts of thy clear-eyed sense of duty, 

Thy generous scorn of all things 
wrong — 
The truth, the strength, the graceful 
beauty 

Which blended in thy song. 
Ail lovely things by thee beloved, 

Shall whisper to our hearts of thee; 
These green hills, where thy childhood 
roved — 

Yon river winding to the sea — 
The sunset light of autumn eves 

Reflecting on the deep, still floods, 
Cloud, crimson sky, and trembling leaves 

Of rainbow- tinted woods, — 
These, in our view, shall henceforth take 
A tenderer meaning for thy sake; 
And all thou loved'st of earth and sky. 
Seem sacred to thy memory. 

" Lucy Hooper." — Whittier. 



232 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

September gih. 
Oh! thou who mournest on thy way, 
With longings for the close of day; 
He walks with thee; that Angel kind, 
And gently whispers ** Be resigned: 
Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell 
The dear Lord ordereth all things well! " 

" The Angel of Patience."— Whitiier. 

September loth. 
Nature has placed thee on a changeful 

tide. 
To breast its waves, but not without a 

guide; 
Yet, as the needle will forget its aim. 
Jarred by the fury of the electric flame. 
As the true current it will falsely feel. 
Warped from its axis by a freight of 

steel ; 
So will thy CONSCIENCE lose its balanced 

truth, 



FROM WHITTIEE AND HOLMES. 233 

If passion's lightning fall upon thy 

youth ; 
So the pure effluence quit its sacred 

hold, 
Girt round too deeply with magnetic 

gold. 

" Urania." — Holmes. 

September nth. 
It may not be our lot to wield 
The sickle in the ripened field; 
Nor ours to hear, on summer eves. 
The reaper's song among the sheaves ; 

Yet where our duty's task is wrought 
In unison with God's great thought. 
The near and future blend in one. 
And whatsoe'er is willed is done! 

And ours the greatful service whence 
Comes, day by day, the recompense; 



S34 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

The hope, the trust, the purpose stayed, 
The fountain and the noonday shade. 

" Seed Time and Harvest." — Whittier. 

September 12th, 
Why fear the night ? why shrink from 
Death, 
That phantom wan ? 
There is nothing in Heaven or earth 
beneath 
Save God and man. 

Peopling the shadows we turn from 
Him 

And from one another; 
All is spectral and vague and dim 

Save God and our brother! 

" My Soul and I."— Whittier. 

September ijth. 
Scenes of my youth! awake its slum- 
bering fire! 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 235 

Ye winds of Memory, sweep the silent 
lyre! 

Ray of the past, if yet thou canst ap- 
pear, 

Break through the clouds of Fancy's 
waning year; 

Chase from her breast the thin autumnal 
snow, 

If leaf or blossom still is fresh below ! 

Long have I wandered; the returning 
tide 

Brought back an exile to his cradle's 
side; 

And as my bark her time-worn flag un- 
rolled, 

To greet the land-breeze with its faded 
fold. 

So, in remembrance of my boyhood's 
time, 

1 lift these ensigns of neglected rhyme; — 



236 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

O more than blest, that, all my wander- 
ings through, 

My anchor falls where first my pennons 
flew! 

« Toetry. "—Holfms. 

September 14th. 
A sound of tumult troubles all the air, 

Like the low thunders of a sultry sky 
Far-rolling ere the downright lightnings 
glare : 
The hills blaze red with warnings: 

foes draw nigh 
Treading the dark with challenge and 
reply. 
Behold the burden of the prophet's 

vision — 
The gathering hosts — the Valley of 
Decision, 
Dusk with the wings of eagles wheel- 
ing o'er. 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 237 

Day of the Lord, of darkness and not 

light! 
It breaks in thunder and the whirl- 
wind's roar! 
Even so, Father! Let thy will be 

done — 
Turn and o'erturn, end what thou hast 

begun 
In judgment or in mercy: as for me. 
If but the least and frailest, let me be 
Evermore numbered with the truly free 
Who find thy service perfect liberty! 
I fain would thank Thee that my mortal 

life 
Has reached the hour (albeit through 

care and pain) 
When Good and Evil, as for final strife. 
Close dim and vast on Armageddon's 

plain ; 
And Michael and his angels once again 



238 BEAUTIFUL THOUGBTS 

Drive howling back the Spirits of the 

Night. 
Oh! for the faith to read the signs 

aright, 
And, from the angle of thy perfect sight 
See Truth's white banner floating on 

before; 
And, the Good Cause, despite of venal 

friends. 
And base expedients, move to noble 

ends: 
See Peace with Freedom make to Time 

amends, 
And, though its cloud of dust, the thresh- 
ing-floor. 
Flailed by thy thunder, heaped with 

chaffless grain ! 

" What of the Day ? "— Whittier. 

September i^th. 
As Thine early children. Lord, 



FROM WHITTIER AND SOLMES. 239 

Shared their wealth and daily bread, 
Even so, with one accord, 

We, in love, each other fed. 
Not with us the miser's hoard. 

Not with us his grasping hand; 
Equal round a common board. 

Drew our meek and brother band! 

" The Familist's Hymn."— WhittUr. 

September i6th. 
The Quaker of the olden time! — 

How calm and firm and true, 
Unspotted by its wrong and crime, 

He walked the dark earth through ! 
The lust of power, the love of gain, 

The thousand lures of sin 
Around him, had no power to stain 

The purity within. 



240 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Oh ! Spirit of that early day. 

So pure and strong and true, 
Be with us in the narrow way 

Our faithful fathers knew. 
Give strength the evil to forsake, 

The cross of Truth to bear, 
And love and reverent fear to make 

Our daily lives a prayer! 

*' The Quaker of the Olden Time.''— Wkittier. 



September lyth. 
Immortal Art! where'er the rounded sky 
Bends o'er the cradle where thy children 

lie. 
Their home is earth, their herald every 

tongue 
Whose accents echo to the voice that 

sung. 

« Votixyy— Holmes. 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 241 

September i8th. 
Home of our childhood! how affection 

clings 
And hovers round thee with her seraph 

wings ! 
Dearer thy hills, though clad in autumn 

brown, 
Than fairest summits which the cedars 

crown! 
Sweeter the fragrance of thy summer 

breeze 
Than all Arabia breathes along the seas! 
The stranger's gale wafts home the exile's 

sigh, 
For the heart's temple is its own blue 

sky! 

" VotXrj."— Holmes. 

September igth. 
As thus into the quiet night the twilight 
lapsed away. 



242 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

And deeper in the brightening moon the 

tranquil shadows lay ; 
From many a brown old farmhouse, and 

hamlet without name, 
Their milking and their home-tasks done, 

the merry buskers came. 

Swung o'er the heaped-up harvest, from 

pitchforks in the mow, 
Shown dimly down the lanterns on the 

pleasant scene below; 
The growing pile of husks behind, the 

golden ears before, 
And laughing eyes and busy hands and 

brown cheeks glimmering o'er. 

" The Huskers." — Whittier. 

September 20th. 
For that great procession of the un- 
loved, who not only wear the crown of 
thorns, but must hide it under the locks 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES, 243 

of brown or gray, — under the snowy 
cap, under the chilling turban, — hide it 
even from themselves, — perhaps never 
know they wear it, though it kills them, 
—there is no depth of tenderness in my 
nature that Pity has not sounded. Some- 
where, — somewhere, — love is in store 
for them, — the universe must not be al- 
lowed to fool them so cruelly. What 
infinite pathos in the small, half-uncon- 
scious artifices by which unattractive 
young persons seek to recommend them- 
selves to the favor of those to whom our 
dear sisters, the unloved, like the rest, 
are impelled by their God-given instincts! 

« The ^^l\.ocx^x:'— Holmes. 

September 21st. 
Last night, just as the tints of autumn's 
sky 



244 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Of sunset faded from our hills and 

streams, 
I sat, vague listening, lapped in twi- 
light dreams, 

To the leaf's rustle, and the cricket's cry. 

Then, like that basket, flush with sum- 
mer fruit. 

Dropped by the angels at the Prophet's 
foot. 

Came, unannounced, a gift of clustered 
sweetness. 
Full-orbed, and glowing with the pris- 
oned beams 

Of summery suns, and, rounded to com- 
pleteness 

By kisses of the south wind and the dew. 

Thrilled with a glad surprise, methought 
I knew 

The pleasure of the homeward-turning 
Jew, 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 245 

When Eschol's clusters on his shoulders 

lay, 
Dropping their sweetness on his desert 

way. 

•♦The ¥xmi-Giit."—WhitHer. 

September 22d. 
Peace to the ever murmuring race! 

And when the latest one 
Shall fold in death her feeble wings 

Beneath the autumn sun, 
Then shall she raise her fainting voice 

And lift her drooping lid. 
And then the child of future years 

Shall hear what Katy did. 

" To an Insect." — Holmes. 

September 2^d. 
Life's burdens fall, its discords cease, 
I lapse into the glad release 
Of nature's own exceeding peace. 



246 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

O, welcome calm of heart and mind! 
As falls yon fir-tree's loosened rind 
To leave a tenderer growth behind, 

So fall the weary years away ; 
A child again, my head I lay 
Upon the lap of this sweet day. 

"Summer by the Lakeside." — Whittier. 

September 24ih. 
Arrow-heads must be brought to a 
sharp point, and the guillotine-axe must 
have a slanting edge. Something in- 
tensely human, narrow, and definite 
pierces to the seat of our sensibilities 
more readily than huge occurrences and 
catastrophes. A nail will pick a lock 
that defies hatchet and hammer. "The 
Royal George " went down with all her 
crew, and Cowper wrote an exquisitely 
simple poem about it; but the leaf that 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 247 

holds it is smooth, while that which 
bears the lines on his mother's portrait is 
blistered with tears. 

« The Autocrat."— ^^/w«. 

September 23th. 
Oh, Stream of the Mountains ! if answer 

of thine 
Could rise from thy waters to question 

of mine, 
Methinks through the din of thy thronged 

banks a moan 
Of sorrow would swell for the days 

which have gone. 
Not for thee the dull jar of the loom and 

the wheel, 
The gliding of shuttles, the ringing of 

steel ; 
But that old voice of waters, of bird and 

of breeze. 



248 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

The dip of the wild-fowl, the rustling of 
trees ! 

" The Merrimack."— Whittier. 

September 26th. 
Oh, what are the prizes we perish to 

win 
To the first little ''shiner" we caught 

with a pin! 
No soil upon earth is so dear to our eyes 
As the soil we first stirred in terrestrial 

pies! 

" lAnQS."— Holmes. 

September 2yth. 
Oh ! for the death the righteous die ! 

An end, like Autumn's day declining. 
On human hearts, as on the sky, 

With holier, tenderer beauty shining; 
As to the parting soul were given 
The radiance of an opening Heaven! 



FROM WHITTIEB AND H0L3IE8. 249 

As if that pure and blessed light, 
From off the Eternal altar flowing, 

Were bathing, in its upward flight. 
The spirit to its worship going! 

"To the Memory of Thomas Shipley.'*— JVAitiun 

September 28th. 
From spire and barn, looked westerly 

the patient weather-cocks ; 
But even the birches on the hill stood 

motionless as rocks. 
No sound was in the woodlands, save the 

squirrel's dropping shell, 
And the yellow leaves among the boughs, 

low rustling as they fell. 

" The Huskers."— Whittier. 

September 2gth. 
The meal unshared is food unblest; 
Thou hoard'st in vain what love should 
spend; 



250 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Self-ease is pain; thy only rest 
Is labor for a worthy end. 

A toil that gains with what it yields, 
And scatters to its own increase, 

And hears, while sowing outward fields, 
The harvest-song of inward peace. 

" The Voices."— Whittier. 

September ^oth. 
I don't know anything sweeter than 
this leaking in of Nature through all the 
cracks in the walls and floors of cities. 
You heap up a million tons of hewn 
rocks on a square mile or two of earth 
which was green once. The trees look 
down from the hillsides and ask each 
other, as they stand on tiptoe,— ** What 
are these people about }" And the small 
herbs at their feet look up and whisper 
back, — *'We will go and see." So the 



FB03I WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 251 

small herbs pack themselves up in the 
least possible bundles, and wait until the 
wind steals to them at night and whis- 
pers, — ** Come with me." Then they go 
softly within into the great city, — one to 
a cleft in the pavement, one to a spout 
on the roof, one to a seam in the marbles 
over a rich gentleman's bones, and one 
to the grave without a stone where noth- 
ing but a man is buried, — and there they 
grow, looking down on the generations 
of men from mouldy roofs, looking up 
from between the less-trodden pave- 
ments, looking out through iron ceme- 
tery railings. 

« The Autocrat."— i/<?/»««. 



OCTOBER. 



October ist. 
Well, whatever lot be mine, 
Long and happy days be thine, 
Ere thy full and honored age 
Dates of time its latest page! 
Squire for master, State for school, 
Wisely lenient, live and rule; 
Over grown-up knave and rogue 
Play the watchful pedagogue; 
Or, while pleasure smiles on duty, 
At the call of youth and beauty. 
Speak for them the spell of law 
Which shall bar and bolt withdraw. 
And the flaming sword remove 
From the Paradise of Love. 
Still, with undimmed eyesight, pore 
Ancient tome and record o'er; 

255 



256 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Still thy week-day lyrics croon, 
Pitch in church the Sunday tune, 
Showing something, in thy part. 
Of the old Puritanic art, 
Singer after Sternhold's heart! 

"To My Old ^ch.oo\xa&sitx:'—Whiitier. 

October 2d. 
Cease, playful goddess! From thine airy 

bound 
Drop like a feather softly to the ground; 
This light bolero grows a ticklish dance, 
And there is mischief in thy kindling 

glance. 
To-morrow bids thee, with rebuking 

frown. 
Change thy gauze tunic for a home-made 

gown, 
Too blest by fortune, if the passing day 
Adorn thy bosom with its frail bouquet, 
But oh still happier if the next forgets 



fhom whittieb and holmes. 257 

Thy daring steps and dangerous pi- 
rouettes ! 

" Terpsichore." — Holmes. 

October ^d. 
The oak, upon the windy hill, 

Its dark green burthen upward heaves — 
The hemlock broods above its rill, 
Its cone-like foliage darker still. 

While the white birch's graceful stem 
And the rough walnut bough receives 
The sun upon their crowded leaves, 

Each colored like a topaz gem ; 

And the tall maple wears with them 
The coronal which autumn gives, 

The brief, bright sign of ruin near. 

The hectic of a dying year! 

" Mogg Megone." — Wkittier. 

October 4th. 
Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard! 
Heap high the golden corn ! 



258 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

No richer gift has Autumn poured 
From out her lavish horn ! 

" The Huskers."— Whittier. 

October ^th. 
God bless the ancient Puritans! 

Their lot was hard enough ; 
But honest hearts make iron arms 

And tender maids are tough ; 
So love and faith have formed and fed 

Our true-born Yankee stuff, 
And keep the kernel in the shell 

The British found so rough! 

« A Song." — Holmes. 

October 6th. 
It may be that my scanty ore 

Long years have washed away, 
And where were golden sands before, 

Is naught but common clay; 
Still something sparkles in the sun 
For Memory to look back upon. 



FROM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 259 

And when my name no more is heard, 
My lyre no more is known, 

Still let me, like a winter's bird, 
In silence and alone. 

Fold over them the weary wing 

Once flashing through the dews of 
spring. 

Yes, let my fancy fondly wrap 

My youth in its decline, 
And riot in the rosy lap 

Of thoughts that once were mine, 
And give the worm my little store 
When the last reader reads no more! 

« The Last Reader."— ^i?/z?/^j. 

October yth. 

{Holmes died^ 18^4.) 

Give our tears to the dead ! For human- 
ity's claim 
From its silence and darkness is ever the 



260 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

The hope of that World whose existence 

is bliss 
May not stifle the tears of the mourners 

of this. 

For, oh! if one glance the- freed spirit 

can throw 
On the scene of its troubled probation 

below, 
Than the pride of the marble — the pomp 

of the dead — 
To that glance will be dearer the tears 

which we shed. 

« A Lament."— Whittier. 

When damps beneath, and storms above, 
Have bowed these fragile towers, 

Still o'er the graves yon locust-grove 
Shall swing its Orient flowers; — 

And I would ask no mouldering bust, 
If e'er this humble line. 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 261 

Which breathed a sigh o'er other's dust, 
Might call a tear on mine. 

" Poetry." — Holmes. 

October 8th. 
My task is done. The Showman and 

his show, 
Themselves but shadows, into shadows 

go; 

And, if no song of idlesse I have sung. 

Nor tints of beauty on the canvas 
flung,— 

If the harsh numbers grate on tender ears. 

And the rough picture overwrought ap- 
pears, — 

With deeper coloring, with a sterner 
blast. 

Before my soul a voice and vision 
passed. 

Such as might Milton's jarring trump 
require. 



262 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Or glooms of Dante fringed with lurid 

fire. 
O, not of choice, for themes of public 

wrong 
I leave the green and pleasant paths of 

song — 
The mild, sweet words, which soften 

and adorn. 
For griding taunt and bitter laugh of 

scorn. 
More dear to me some song of private 

worth. 
Some homely idyl of my native North, 
Some summer pastoral of her inland 

vales 
And sea-brown hamlets, through where 

misty gales 
Flit the dim ghosts of unreturning sails — 
Lost barks at parting hung from stem to 

helm 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 263 

With prayers of love like dreams on 

Virgil's elm ; 
Nor private grief nor malice hold my 

pen; 
I owe but kindness to my fellow- 
men. 
And South or North, wherever hearts of 

prayer 
Their woes and weakness to our Father 

bear, 
Whenever fruits of Christian love are 

found 
In holy lives, to me is holy ground. 
But the time passes. It were vain to 

crave 
A late indulgence. What I had I gave. 
Forget the poet, but his warning heed, 
And shame his poor word with your 

nobler deed. 

" The Panorama."— Whittier, 



264 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

October 9th. 
Beware of making your moral staple 
consist of the negative virtues. It is 
good to abstain, and teach others to ab- 
stain, from all that is sinful or hurtful. 
But making a business of it leads to 
enunciation of character, unless one 
feeds largely also on the more nutritious 
diet of active sympathetic benevolence. 

" The KxiiocxzX:*— Holmes. 

October loth. 
For broken heart, and clouded mind, 

Whereon no human mercies fall — 
Oh, be Thy gracious love inclined, 

Who, as a father, pitiest all! 

And grant, O Father! that the time 
Of Earth's deliverance may be near. 

When every land, and tongue, and clime. 
The message of Thy love shall hear. 

" Lines."— Whittier, 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES, 265 

October nth. 
Gone hath the Spring, with all its 
flowers, 
And gone the Summer's pomp and 
show, 
And Autumn, in his leafless bowers, 
Is waiting for the Winter's snow. 

" Autumn Thoughts."— Whittier. 

October 12th. 
Better to stem with heart and hand 
The roaring tide of life, than lie, 
Unmindful, on its flowery strand, 
Of God's occasions drifting by! 
Better with naked nerve to bear 
The needles of this goading air, 
Than, in the lap of sensual ease, forego 
The Godlike power to do, the Godlike 
aim to know. 

** The Last Walk in Autumn."— Whittier. 



266 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

October ijth. 
Be firm ! one constant element in luck 
Is genuine, solid, old Teutonic pluck; 
See yon tall shaft; it felt the earthquake's 

thrill, 
Clung to its base, and greets the sunrise 

still. 

" \Jt^m.2i."— Holmes. 

October 14th. 
And were this life the utmost span, 
The only end and aim of man. 
Better the toil of fields like these 
Than waking dream and slothful ease. 
But life, though falling like our grain. 
Like that revives and springs again; 
And, early called, how blest are they 
Who wait in heaven their harvest-day! 

"Seed Time and Harvest."— ^/^zV/eVn 

October i^th. 
Oh, in her meek, forgiving eye 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 267 

There was a brightness not of mirth — 
A light, whose clear intensity 

Was borrowed not of earth. 
Along her cheek a deepening red 
Told where the feverish hectic fed; 

And yet, each fatal token gave 
To the mild beauty of her face 
A newer and a dearer grace, 

Unwarning of the grave. 
Twas like the hue which autumn gives 
To yonder changed and dying leaves. 

Breathed over by his frosty breath ; 
Scarce can the gazer feel that this 
Is but the spoiler's treacherous kiss, 

The mocking-smile of Death ! 

" Mogg Megone." — PVhittier. 

October i6th. 
Thus, while at times before our eyes 
The shadows melt, and fall apart, 
And, smiling through them, round us lies 



268 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

The warm light of our morning skies — 
The Indian Summer of the heart! — 

In secret sympathies of mind, 
In founts of feeling which retain 

Their pure, fresh flow, we yet may find 
Our early dreams not wholly vain ! 

" Memories." — Whittier. 

October lyth. 
Gayly chattering to the clattering 
Of the brown nuts downward pattering, 

Leap the squirrels, red and gray. 
On the grass-land, on the fallow. 
Drop the apples, red and yellow ; 
Drop the russet pears and mellow. 

Drop the red leaves all the day. 

And away, swift away 
Sun and cloud, o'er hill and hollow 

Chasing, weave their web of play. 

«' The Ranger."— Whittier. 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 269 

October i8th 

The feeble seabirds, blinded in the 
storms, 

On some tall lighthouse dash their little 
forms, 

And the rude granite scatters for their 
pains 

Those small deposits that were meant for 
brains. 

Yet the proud fabric in the morning's 
sun 

Stands all unconscious of the mischief 
done; 

Still the red beacon pours its evening rays 

For the lost pilot with as full a blaze. 

Nay, shines, all radiance, o'er the scat- 
tered fleet 

Of gulls and boobies brainless at its feet. 

I tell their fate, though courtesy dis- 
claims 



270 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

To call our kind by such ungentle names; 
Yet, if your rashness bid you vainly dare, 
Think of their doom, ye simple, and be- 
ware! 

" Extracts From a Medical Poem." — Holmes. 

October jpth. 
He walked the dark world, in the mild, 

Still guidance of the Light; 
In tearful tenderness a child, 

A strong man in the right. 

From what great perils, on his way, 
He found, in prayer, release; 

Through what abysmal shadows lay 
His pathway unto peace. 

« William Forster."— Whittier. 

October 20th. 
Mighty alike for good or ill 
With mother-land, we fully share 



FUOM WHITTIEB AND KOLMES. 271 

The Saxon strength — the nerve of steel — 
The tireless energy of will, — 
The power to do, the pride to dare. 

" Lines." — Whtttier. 

October 21st. 
No more the summer floweret charms, 

The leaves will soon be sere, 
And Autumn folds his jeweled arms 

Around the dying year; 
So, ere the waning seasons claim 

Our leafless groves awhile. 
With golden wine and glowing flame 

We'll crown our lonely isle. 

Once more the merry voices sound 

Within the antlered hall, 
And long and loud the baying bounds 

Return the hunter's call ; 
And through the woods, and o'er the 
hill. 



272 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

And far along the bay, 
The driver's horn is sounding shrill, — 
Up, sportsmen, and away ! 

«'The Island Hunting Song."— Holmes. 

October 22d. 
'Tis morning over Norridgewock — 
On tree and wigwam, wave and rock. 
Bathed in the autumnal sunshine, stirred 
At intervals by breeze and bird, 
And wearing all the hues which glow 
In heaven's own pure and perfect bow, 

That glorious picture of the air, 
Which summer's light-robed angel forms 
On the dark ground of fading storms, 

With pencil dipped in sunbeams 
there — 
And, stretching out, on either hand, 
O'er all that wide and unshorn land, 

Till, weary of its gorgeousness, 
The aching and the dazzled eye 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 273 

Rests gladdened, on the calm blue sky — 
Slumbers the mighty wilderness ! 

" Mogg Megone." — Whittier. 

October 23d. 
Rich gift of God ! A year of time ! 

What pomp of rise and shut of day, 
What hues wherewith our northern 
clime 
Makes autumn's dropping woodlands 

gay, 
What airs outblown from ferny dells, 
And clover-bloom and sweet-brier smells, 
What songs of brooks and birds, what 

fruits and flowers. 
Green woods and moonlit snows, have 

in its round been ours! 

" The Last Walk in KM\.uxs\xi:'— Whittier. 

October 24th. 
Does praise delight thee ? Choose some 
ultra side; 



274 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

A sure old recipe, and often tried; 
Be its apostle, congressman, or bard. 
Spokesman, or jokesman, only drive it 

hard; 
But know the forfeit which thy choice 

abides. 
For on two wheels the poor reformer rides. 
One black with epithets the anti throws. 
One white with flattery, painted by the 

pros, 

" Urania." — Holmes. 



October 2^th. 
O HOLY Father!— just and true 
Are all Thy works and words and 
ways, 
And unto Thee alone are due 

Thanksgiving and eternal praise! 
As children of Thy gracious care. 
We veil the eye — we bend the knee, 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 275 

With broken words of praise and prayer, 
Father and God, we come to Thee. 

" Lines." — Whittier. 

October 26th. 
And thou, my Table! though unwearied 
Time 
Hath set his signet on thine altered 
brow, 
Still can 1 see thee in thy spotless prime. 
And in my memory thou art living 
now; 
Soon must thou slumber with forgotten 

things, 
The peasant's ashes and the dust of kings. 

« To My Companions." — Holmes. 

October 2yth. 
It was late in mild October, and the long 

autumnal rain 
Had left the summer harvest-fields all 

green with grass again ; 



276 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

The first sharp frosts had fallen, leaving 

all the woodlands gay 
With the hues of summer's rainbow, or 

the meadow-tlowers of May. 

" The Huskers."— Whittier. 

October 28th. 
If Heaven can hear the dying tone 

Of chords that soon will cease to thrill, 
The prayer that Heaven has heard alone, 
May bless thee when those chords are 
still! 

" From a Bachelor's Private Journal." — Holmes. 

October 2gth. 
Day hath put on his jacket, and around 
His burning bosom buttoned it with stars. 
Here will I lay me on the velvet grass. 
That is like padding to earth's meagre 

ribs, 
And hold communion with the things 
about me. 



FROM WHITTIEB AND H0L3IE8. 277 

Ah me! how lovely is the golden braid, 
That binds the skirt of night's descending 

robe! 
The thin leaves, quivering on their silken 

threads, 
Do make a music like to rustling satin. 
As the light breezes smooth their dow^ny 

nap. 

" Evening." — Holmes. 

October joth. 
The morning light, which rains its 

quivering beams 
Wide o'er the plains, the summits, and 

the streams, 
In one broad blaze expands its golden 

glow 
On all that answers to its glance below; 
Yet, changed on earth, each far reflected 

ray 



278 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Braids with fresh hues the shining brow 

of day ; 
Now, clothed in blushes by the painted 

flowers, 
Tracks on their cheeks the rosy-fingered 

hours; 
Now, lost in shades, whose dark en- 
tangled leaves 
Drip at the noontide from their pendent 

eaves, 
Fades into gloom, or gleams in light 

again 
From every dewdrop on the jeweled 

plain. 

" A Metrical Essay."— Holmes. 

October ^ist. 
O'er the bare woods, whose out- 
stretched hands 
Plead with the leaden heavens in 
vain, 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 279 

I see, beyond the valley lands, 

The sea's long level dim with rain. 
Around me all things, stark and dumb, 
Seem praying for the snows to come. 
And, for the summer bloom and green- 
ness gone, 
With winter's sunset lights and dazzling 
morns atone. 

"The Last Week in A.vAyxmTi:'—Whittier, 



NOVEMBER 



November ist. 
Wildly round our woodland quarters, 

Sad-voiced Autumn grieves; 
Thickly down these swelling waters 

Float his fallen leaves. 
Through the tall and naked timber, 

Column-like and old, 
Gleam the sunsets of November, 

From their skies of gold. 

« The Lumbermen." — Whittier. 

November 2d. 

He comes — he comes — the Frost Spirit 
comes! You may trace his foot- 
steps now 

On the naked woods and the blasted 
fields and the brown hill's withered 
brow. 

383 



284 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

He has smitten the leaves of the gray old 

trees where their pleasant green 

came forth, 
And the winds, which follow wherever 

he goes, have shaken them down to 

earth. 

« The Frost Spirit."— Whittier. 

November jd. 
Die-away dreams of ecstatic emotion, 

Hopes like young eagles at play, 
Vows of unheard-of and endless de- 
votion, 
How ye have faded away! 

Yet, though the ebbing of Time's mighty 
river 
Leave our young blossoms to die. 
Let him roll smooth in his current for- 
ever. 
Till the last pebble is dry. 

« Questions and Answers." — Holmes, 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 285 

November 4th. 

The long bright days of Summer swiftly 
passed, 

The dry leaves whirled in Autumn's ris- 
ing blast, 

And evening cloud and whitening sun- 
rise rime 

Told of the coming of the winter time. 

" At Pennacook." — Whitiier. 

The pleasure of exercise is due first to 
a purely physical impression, and sec- 
ondly to a sense of power in action. 
The first source of pleasure varies, of 
course, with our condition and the state 
of the surrounding circumstances; the 
second with the amount and kind of 
power, and the extent and kind of action. 
In all forms of active exercise there are 
three powers simultaneously in action — 
the will, the muscles, and the intellect. 

" The Autocrat."— Z^o/w«. 



286 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

November ^th. 
The proudest now is but my peer. 

The highest not more high; 
To-day, of all the weary year, 

A king of men am I. 
To-day, alike are great and small, 

The nameless and the known ; 
My palace is the people's hall. 

The ballot-box my throne! 

" The Poor Voter or Election Day." — Whittier. 

November 6th. 
Nature is liberal to her inmost soul, 
She loves alike the tropic and the pole, 
The storm's wild anthem, and the sun- 
shine's calm, 
The arctic fungus, and the desert palm; 
Loves them alike, and wills that each 

maintain 
Its destined share of her divided reign; 



FR03I WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 287 

No creeping moss refuse her crystal 

gem, 
No soaring pine her cloudy diadem ! 

Alas! her children, borrowing but in 

part 
The flowing pulses of her generous 

heart, 
Shame their kind mother with eternal 

strife 
At all the crossings of their mingled 

life; 
Each age, each people, finds its ready 

shifts 
To quarrel stoutly o'er her choicest gifts. 

" Astraea."— ^^/»?«. 

November yth. 

Sing, oh, my soul, rejoicingly, on even- 
ing's twilight calm 

Uplift the loud thanksgiving— pour forth 
the grateful psalm ; 



288 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Let all dear hearts with me rejoice, as did 
the saints of old, 

When of the Lord's good angel the res- 
cued Peter told. 

«« Cassandra Southwick." — Whittier. 

November 8th. 
Cherub of Wisdom ! let thy marble page 
Leave its sad lesson, new to every age; 
Teach us to live, not grudging every 

breath 
To the chill winds that waft us on to 

death, 
But ruling calmly every pulse it warms, 
And tempering gently every word it 

forms. 

" Pittsfield Cemetery." — Holmes. 

November pth. 
I must leave thee, lady sweet! 
Months shall waste before we meet; 



FBOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 289 

Winds are fair, and sails are spread, 
Anchors leave their ocean bed ; 
Ere this shining day grow dark, 
Skies shall gird my shoreless bark; 
Through thy tears, O lady mine. 
Read thy lover's parting line. 

3fC 3fi Jf* 5|£ *fC 

Fare thee well, if years efface 
From thy heart love's burning trace, 
Keep, oh keep that hallowed seat 
From the tread of vulgar feet ; 
If the blue lips of the sea 
Wait with icy kiss for me. 
Let not thine forget the vow. 
Sealed how often, Love, as now ! 

" The Parting Word."— Holmes. 

November loth. 
He comes — he comes — the Frost Spirit 
comes! — let us meet him as we 
may, 



290 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

And turn with the light of the parlor-fire 

his evil power away; 
And gather closer the circle round, when 

that fire-light dances high, 
And laugh at the shriek of the baffled 

Fiend as his sounding wing goes by! 

" The Frost Spirit."— Whittier. 

November nth. 
The sport of Time, who still apart 

The waifs of life is flinging; 
O ! never more shall heart to heart 

Draw nearer for that singing! 

Yet when the panes are frosty-starred, 
And twilight's fire is gleaming, 

I hear the songs of Scotland's bard 
Sound softly through my dreaming! 

A song that lends to winter snows 
The glow of summer weather — 



FROM WHITTIEB AND H0L3IES, 291 

Again I hear thee ca' the yowes 
To Cluden's hills of heather! 

« A Memory." — Wkittier. 

November 12th. 
The infancy and childhood of com- 
mencing old age have the same ingenu- 
ous simplicity and delightful uncon- 
sciousness about them that the first stage 
of the earlier periods of life shows. 
The great delusion of mankind is in sup- 
posing that to be individual and excep- 
tional which is universal and according 
to law. A person is always startled 
when he hears himself seriously called 
an old man for the first time. 

" The Autocra.t."—Bblmes. 

November rjth. 
Ask why the graceful grape entwines 
The rough oak with her arm of vines ; 



292 BEAUTIFUL TBOUGMTS 

And why the gray rock's rugged cheek 
The soft lips of the mosses seek: 

Why, with wise instinct, Nature seems 
To harmonize her wide extremes, 
Linking the stronger with the weak. 
The haughty with the soft and meek! 

"The Wedding."— ^-^zV/iVr. 

November 14th. 
Come back to your mother, ye children, 

for shame, 
Who have wandered like truants, for 

riches or fame! 
With a smile on her face, and a sprig in 

her cap. 
She calls you to feast from her bountiful 

lap. 

Come out from your alleys, your courts, 
and your lanes, 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 293 

And breathe, like young eagles, the air 

of our plains; 
Take a whiff from our fields, and your 

excellent wives 
Will declare it's all nonsense insuring 

your lives. 

" Lines." — Holmes. 

November i^th. 
Then let the icy North wind blow 

The trumpets of the coming storm, 
To arrowy sleet and blinding snow 

Yon slanting lines of rain transform. 
Young hearts shall hail the drifted cold, 
As gayly as 1 did of old ; 
And I, who watch them through the 

frosty pane, 
Unenvious, live in them my boyhood o'er 
again. 

" The Last Walk in Autumn."— Whittier. 



294 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

November i6th. 

Between two breaths what crowded 
mysteries lie, — 

The first short gasp, the last and long- 
drawn sigh! 

Like phantoms painted on the magic 
slide, 

Forth from the darkness of the past we 
glide, 

As living shadows for a moment seen 

In airy pageant on the eternal screen. 

Traced by a ray from one unchanging 
flame, 

Then seek the dust and stillness whence 
we came. 

«« Urania." — Holmes. 

November lyth. 
Thus evermore. 
On sky, and wave, and shore. 
An all-pervading beauty seems to say: 



FB03I WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 295 

God's love and power are one; and 

they, 
Who, like the thunder of a sultry day, 
Smite to restore, 
And they, who, like the gentle wind, up- 
lift 
The petals of the dew-wet flowers, and 

drift 
Their perfume on the air, 
Alike may serve Him, each, with their 

own gift. 
Making their lives a prayer! 

"To A.K."-^ tVAitiier. 

November i8th. 
Thus shall he live whose more than 

mortal name 
Mocks with its ray the pallid torch of 

Fame; 
So proudly lifted, that it seems afar 
No earthly Pharos, but a heavenly star; 



296 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Who, unconfined to Art's diurnal bound, 
Girds her whole zodiac in his flaming 

round, 
And leads the passions, like the orb that 

guides, 
From pole to pole, the palpitating tides! 

November ipth, 
"The words he spake, the thoughts he 
penned 
Are mortal as his hand and brain. 
But, if they served the Master's end, 
He has not lived in vain! " 

« My Namesake." — Whittier. 

November 20th. 
Alas! the morning dew is gone, 

Gone ere the full of day; 
Life's iron fetter still is on. 

Its wreaths all torn away; 



FEOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 297 



Happy if still some casual hour 
Can warm the fading shrine, 

Too soon to chill beyond the power 
Of love, or song, or wine! 

« An Evening Thought." — Holmes. 

November 21st. 
Loud behind us grow the murmurs 

Of the age to come; 
Clang of smiths, and tread of farmers, 

Bearing harvest-home! 
Here her virgin lap with treasures 

Shall the green earth fill; 
Waving wheat and golden maize-ears 

Crown each beechen hill. 

" The Lumbermen."— Whittier. 

November 22d. 
Then said the Showman, sadly: ''He 

who grieves 
Over the scattering of the Sibyl's leaves 



BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 



Unwisely mourns. Suffice it, that we 

know 
What needs must ripen from the seed 

we sow; 
That present time is but the mould 

wherein 
We cast the shapes of holiness and sin. 
A painful watcher of the passing hour, 
Its lust of gold, its strife for place and 

power; 
Its lack of manhood, honor, reverence, 

truth, 
Wise-thoughted age, and generous- 
hearted youth ; 
Nor yet unmindful of each better sign — 
The low, far lights, which on th' horizon 

shine. 
Like those which sometimes tremble on 

the rim 
Of clouded skies when day is closing dim. 



FB03I WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 299 

Flashing athwart the purple spears of 

rain 
The hope of sunshine on the hills again : — 
I need no prophet's word, nor shapes 

that pass 
Like clouding shadows o'er a magic 

glass; 
For now, as ever, passionless and cold, 
Doth the dread angel of the future hold 
Evil and good before us, with no voice 
Or warning look to guide us in our 

choice; 
With spectral hands outreaching through 

the gloom 
The shadowy contrasts of the coming 

doom. 
Transferred from these, it now remains 

to give 
The sun and shade of Fate's alternative." 

«« The Panorama."— Whittier. 



300 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

November 2^d. 
Yes, dear Enchantress, — wandering far 

and long, 
In realms unperfumed by the breath of 

song, 
Where flowers ill-flavored shed their 

sweets around. 
And bitterest roots invade the ungenial 

ground, 
Whose gems are crystals from the Epsom 

mine. 
Whose vineyards flow with antimonial 

wine, 
Whose gates admit no mirthful feature in. 
Save one gaunt mocker, the Sardonic 

grin. 
Whose pangs are real, not the woes of 

rhyme 
That blue-eyed misses warble out of 

time; — 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 301 

Truant, not recreant to thy sacred claim, 
Older by reckoning, but in heart the 

same. 
Freed for a moment from the chains of 

toil, 
I tread once more thy consecrated soil; 
Here at thy feet my old allegiance own, 
Thy subject still, and loyal to thy throne! 

" Urania." — Holmes. 

November 24th. 
Let earth withhold her goodly root, 

Let mildew blight the rye. 
Give to the worm the orchard's fruit, 

The wheat-field to the fly: 

But let the good old crop adorn 

The hills our fathers trod ; 
Still let us, for His golden corn. 

Send up our thanks to God! 

" The Huskers."— Whittier, 



302 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

November 2^th. 
Happy he whose inward ear 
Angel comfortings can hear, 

O'er the rabble's laughter; 
And, while Hatred's fagots burn, 
Glimpses through the smoke discern 

Of the good hereafter. 

Knowing this, that never yet 
Share of Truth was vainly set 

In the world's wide fallow; 
After hands shall sow the seed. 
After hands from hill and mead 

Reap the harvests yellow. 

« Barclay of Ury."— Whittier. 



November 26th. 
We thank Thee, Father!— hill and plain 
Around us wave their fruits once 
more, 



FEOM WHITTIEB AND B0LME8. 303 

And clustered vine, and blossomed 
grain, 
Are bending round each cottage door. 

And peace is here; and hope and love 
Are round us as a mantle thrown, 

And unto Thee, supreme above, 
The knee of prayer is bowed alone. 

» Lines."— Whittier. 

November 2yth. 

Ah! — on Thanksgiving Day, when from 
East and from West, 

From North and from South come the 
pilgrim and guest. 

When the gray-haired New Englander 
sees round his board 

The old broken links of affection re- 
stored, 

When the care-wearied man seeks his 
mother once more. 



304 BEAUTIFUL TH0UGET8 

And the worn matron smiles where the 
girl smiled before, 

What moistens the lip and what bright- 
ens the eye ? 

What calls back the past, like the rich 
Pumpkin pie ? 

« The Pumpkin."— Whittier. 



November 28th. 
Go where the ancient pathway guides. 

See where our sires laid down 
Their smiling babes, their cherished 
brides. 

The patriarchs of the town; 
Hast thou a tear for buried love ? 

A sigh for transient power ? 
All that a century left above. 

Go, read it in an hour! 

" Foetry."—I/b/mfs. 



FEOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 305 

November 2gth. 
Thou, O my country, hast thy foolish 

ways, 
Too apt to purr at every stranger's 

praise ; 
But, if the stranger touch thy modes or 

laws, 
Off goes the velvet and out come the 

claws! 
And thou, Illustrious! but too poorly 

paid 
In toasts from Pickwick for thy great 

crusade, 
Though, while the echoes labored with 

thy name, 
The public trap denied thy little game, 
Let other lips our jealous laws re- 
vile, — 
The marble Talfourd or the rude Car- 

lyie- 



306 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

But on thy lids, that Heaven forbids to 

close 
Where'er the light of kindly nature 

glows, 
Let not the dollars that a churl denies 
Weigh like the shillings on a dead man's 

eyes! 

" Terpsichore." — Holmes. 

November joth. 
O changing youth ! that evening hour 
Look down on ours, — the bud — the 

flowers; 
Thine faded in its virgin soil. 
And mine was nursed in tears and toil; 
Thy leaves were withering, one by one, 
While mine were opening to the sun; — 
Which now can meet the cold and 

storm, 
With freshest leaf and hardiest form ? 

« A Souvenir." — Holmes. 



DECEMBER. 



December ist. 
Time is hastening on, and we 
What our fathers are shall be, — 
Shadow-shapes of memory! 
Joined to that vast multitude 
Where the great are but the good, 
And the mind of strength shall prove 
Weaker than the heart of love; 
Pride of gray-beard wisdom less 
Than the infant's guilelessness, 
And his song of sorrow more 
Than the crown the Psalmist wore! 
Who shall then, with pious zeal, 
At our moss-grown thresholds kneel, 
From a stained and stony page 
Reading to a careless age, 

309 



310 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

With a patient eye like thine, 
Prosing tale and limping line. 

« To My Old Schoolmaster."— Whittier. 

December 2d. 
Nature gets us out of youth into man- 
hood, as sailors are hurried on board of 
vessels — in a state of intoxication. We 
are hustled into maturity reeling with our 
passions and imaginations, and we have 
drifted far away from port before we 
awake out of our illusions. But to carry 
us out of maturity into old age, without 
our knowing where we are going, she 
drugs us with strong opiates, and so we 
stagger along with wide open eyes that 
see nothing until snow enough has fallen 
on our heads to rouse our comatose brains 
out of their stupid trances. 

« The Autocrat."— ^^/w^J. 



FEOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 311 



December jd. 
How few that love us have we found! 
How wide the world that girds them 

round! 
Like mountain streams we meet and part, 
Each living in the other's heart, 
Our course unknown, our hope to be 
Yet mingled in the distant sea. 

" The Philosopher to His 'Lo\e.''— Holmes. 

December 4th. 
Quench the timber's fallen embers, 
Quench the red leaves in December's 

Hoary rime and chilly spray. 
But the hearth shall kindle clearer, 
Household welcomes sound sincerer. 
Heart to loving heart draw nearer. 

When the bridal bells shall say: 

** Hope and pray, trust alway ; 
Life is sweeter, love is dearer. 

For the trial and delay! " 

« The Ranger."— Whittier. 



312 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

December ^th. 
"The cross, if rightly borne, shall be 
No burden, but support to thee; " 
So, moved of old time for our sake, 
The holy monk of Kempen spake. 

Thou brave and true one! upon whom 
Was laid the cross of martyrdom, 
How didst thou, in thy generous youth. 
Bear witness to this blessed truth ! 

Thy cross of suffering and of shame 
A staff within thy hands became, 
In paths where faith alone could see 
The Master's steps supporting thee. 

"The (Zxo-=.'=,r—Whittier, 

December 6th. 
Made in His image, thou must nobly 

dare 
The thorny crown of sovereignty to 

share. 



FROM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 313 

With eye uplifted it is thine to view, 
From thine own centre, heaven's o'er- 

archingblue; 
So round thy heart a beaming circle lies 
No fiend can blot, no hypocrite disguise; 
From all its orbs one cheering voice is 

heard. 
Full to thine ear it bears the Father's 

word, 
Now, as in Eden where his first-born 

trod: 
''Seek thine own welfare, true to man 

and God! " 
Think not too meanly of thy low es- 
tate; 
Thou hast a choice; to choose is to 

create ! 
Remember whose the sacred lips that tell. 
Angels approve thee when thy choice is 

well; 



314 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Remember, One, a judge of righteous 

men. 
Swore to spare Sodom if she held but 

ten! 
Use well the freedom which thy Master 

gave, 
(Think'st thou that Heaven can tolerate a 

slave ?) 
And He who made thee to be just and 

true 
Will bless thee, love thee, — ay, respect 

thee too! 

" Urania." — Holmes. 

December yth. 
If the time comes when you must lay 
down the fiddle and the bow, because 
your fingers are too stiff, and drop the 
ten-foot sculls, because your arms are 
too weak, and after dallying awhile with 
eye-glasses, come at last to the undis- 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 315 

guised reality of spectacles, — if the time 
comes when that fire of life we spoke of 
has burned so low that where its flames 
reverbrated there is only the sombre stain 
of regret, and where its coals glowed, 
only the white ashes that covered the 
embers of memory, — don't let your heart 
grow cold, and you may carry cheerful- 
ness and love with you into the teens of 
your second century, if you can last so 
long. 

«« The KvAocxdX."— Holmes. 

December 8th. 
On Autumn's gray and mournful grave 

the snow 
Hung its white wreaths; with stifled 

voice and low 
The river crept, by one vast bridge o'er- 

crossed. 
Built by the hoar-locked artisan of Frost. 

" At Pennacook." — Whittier. 



316 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

December gth. 

Yet Faith's pure hymn, beneath its shel- 
ter rude, 

Breathes out as sweetly to the tangled 
wood. 

As where the rays through blazing oriels 
pour 

On marble shaft and tessellated floor ; — 

Heaven asks no surplice round the heart 
that feels. 

And all is holy where devotion kneels. 

" Votixy."— Holmes. 

December loth. 
The dead are waking underneath ! 

Their prison door is rent away! 
And, ghastly with the seal of death, 

They wander in the eye of day! 
The temple of the Cherubim, 
The House of God is cold and dim; 



FROM WHITTIEB AND H0L3IES. 317 

A curse is on its trembling walls, 
Its mighty veil asunder falls ! 

Well may the cavern-depths of Earth 
Be shaken, and her mountains nod; 
Well may the sheeted death come forth 

To gaze upon a suffering God! 
Well may the temple-shrine grow dim. 
And shadows veil the Cherubim, 
When He, the chosen one of Heaven, 
A sacrifice for guilt is given! 

« The Crucifixion."— Whittier. 

December nth. 

Farewell ! 
And though the ways of Zion mourn 
When her strong ones are called away. 
Who like thyself have calmly borne 
The heat and burden of the day, 
Yet He who slumbereth not nor sleepeth 
His ancient watch around us keepeth ; 



318 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Still sent from His creating hand, 
New witnesses for Truth shall stand — 
New instruments to sound abroad 
The Gospel of a risen Lord; 

To gather to the fold once more, 
The desolate and gone astray, 
The scattered of a cloudy day, 

And Zion's broken walls restore ! 
And, through the travail and the toil 

Of true obedience, minister 
Beauty for ashes, and the oil 

Of joy for mourning, unto her! 

« Daniel Wheeler."— Whittier. 

December 12th. 
There is no more beautiful illustration 
of the principle of compensation which 
marks the Divine benevolence than the 
fact that some of the holiest lives and 
some of the sweetest songs are the 



FEOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES, 319 

growth of the infirmity which unfits its 
subject for the rougher duties of life. 
When one reads the life of Cowper, or of 
Keats, or of Lucretia and Margaret David- 
son, of so many gentle sweet natures, 
born to weakness, and mostly dying be- 
fore their time, one cannot help thinking 
that the human race dies out singing, 
like the swan in the old story. 

« The Autocrat." — Holmes, 

December ijth. 
God blesses still the generous thought, 

And still the fitting word He speeds, 
And Truth, at His requiring taught. 

He quickens into deeds. 

Where is the victory of the grave ? 

What dust upon the spirit lies ? 
God keeps the sacred life He gave — 

The prophet never dies ! 

« Channing." — Whittier. 



320 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

December 14th. 
Oh, when love's first, sweet, stolen kiss 

Burned on my boyish brow, 
Was that young forehead worn as this ? 

Was that flushed cheek as now ? 
Were that wild pulse and throbbing heart 

Like these, which vainly strive, 
In thankless strains of soulless art, 

To dream themselves alive ? 

" An Evening Thought." — Holmes, 

December i^th. 
Yon mountain's side is black with night. 
While, broad-orbed, o'er its gleaming 
crown 
The moon, slow-rounding into sight. 

On the hushed inland sea looks down. 
How start to light the clustering isles, 
Each silver-hemmed! How sharply 
show 



FBOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 321 

The shadows of their rocky piles, 
And tree-tops in the wave below! 

How far and strange the mountains seem, 
Dim-looming through the pale, still 
light! 

The vague, vast grouping of a dream, 
They stretch into the solemn night. 

«« Summer by the Lakeside." — WhittUr. 

December i6th. 
And that leads me to say that men 
often remind me of pears in their way 
of coming to maturity. Some are ripe 
at twenty, like human Jargonelles, and 
must be made the most of, for their day 
is soon over. Some come into their 
perfect condition late, like the autumn 
kinds, and they last better than the 
summer fruit. And some, that like the 
Winter-Nelis, have been hard and unin- 



322 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

viting until all the rest have had their 
season, get their glow and perfume long 
after the frost and snow have done their 
worst with the orchards. Beware of 
rash criticisms ; the rough and stringent 
fruit you condemn may be an autumn or 
a winter pear, and that which you picked 
up beneath the same bough in August 
may have been only its worm-eaten 
windfalls. 

« The Autocrat." — Holmes. 

December lyth. 

( y<fhiltier born, 1807.) 

And thou, my song, 1 send thee forth, 
Where harsher songs of mine have 
flown. 
Go, find a place at home and hearth 
Where'er thy singer's name is 
known; 
Revive for him the kindly thought 



FROM WHITTIEE AND HOLMES. 323 

Of friends; and they who love him 
not, 

Touched by some strain of thine per- 
chance may take 

The hand he proffers all, and thank him 
for thy sake. 

"The Last Walk in K-aX.\xmn:'—WhitHer. 

December i8th. 
Alone, in that dark sorrow, hour after 

hour crept by ; 
Star after star looked palely in and sank 

adown the sky ; 
No sound amid night's stillness, save that 

which seemed to be 
The dull and heavy beating of the pulses 

of the sea. 

" Cassandra Southwick." — Whittier. 

December igth. 
Yet do thy work ; it shall succeed 
In thine or in another's day; 



324 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

And, if denied the victor's meed, 
Thou shalt not lack the toiler's pay. 

Faith shares the future's promise; 
Love's 

Self-offering is a triumph won; 
And each good thought or action moves 

The dark world nearer to the sun. 

" The Voices."— Whittier. 

December 20th. 
The Pilgrim's wild and wintry day 

Its shadow round us draws; 
The Mayflower of his stormy bay, 

Our Freedom's struggling cause. 

But warmer suns ere long shall bring 

To life the frozen sod; 
And, through dead leaves of hope, shall 
spring 

Afresh the flowers of God! 

" The Mayflowers." — Whittier. 



FROM WHITTIER AND H0L3IE8. 325 

December 21st. 
This weekly picture faithful memory 

draws, 
Nor claims the noisy tribute of ap- 
plause ; 
Faint is the glow such barren hopes can 

lend, 
And frail the line that asks no loftier 

end. 
Trust me, kind listener, I will yet 

beguile 
Thy saddened features of the promised 

smile; 
This magic mantle thou must well 

divide, 
It has its sable and its ermine side; 
Yet, ere the lining of the robe appears, 
Take thou in silence, what I give in 

tears. 

" Urania." — Holmes, 



326 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

December 22d. 
Think ye the notes of holy song 

On Milton's tuneful ear have died ? 
Think ye that Raphael's angel throng 

Has vanished from his side ? 

Oh no ! — We live our life again : 
Or warmly touched or coldly dim 

The pictures of the Past remain, — 
Man's works shall follow him! 

" Raphael."— Whittier, 

December 2^d. 
Thirst belongs to humanity, every- 
where, in all ages; but that white-pine 
pail and that brown mug belong to me 
in particular; and just so of my special 
relationships with other things and with 
my race. One could never remember 
himself in eternity by the mere fact of 
having loved or hated any more than by 



FBOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 327 

that of having thirsted; love and hate 
have no more individuality in them than 
single waves in the ocean; but the ac- 
cidents or trivial marks which distin- 
guished those whom we loved or hated 
make their memory our own forever, 
and with it that of our own personality 
also. 

" The Autocrat."— ^o/ww. 

December 24th. 
Torn apart, and driven forth 

To our toiling hard and long, 
Father! from the dust of earth 

Lift we still our grateful song! 
Grateful — that in bonds we share 

In Thy love which maketh free; 
Joyful — that the wrongs we bear. 

Draw us nearer, Lord, to Thee! 

««The Familist's Hymn:'-— Whittier, 



328 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

December 2^th. 
Lend, once again, that holy song a 

tongue, 
Which the glad angels of the Advent 

sung, 
Their cradle-anthem for the Saviour's 

birth, 
Glory to God, and peace unto the earth ! 
Through the mad discord send that calm- 
ing word 
Which wind and wave on wild Genes- 

areth heard, 
Lift in Christ's name His Cross against 

the Sword ! 
Not vain the vision which the prophets 

saw. 
Skirting with green the fiery waste of 

war. 
Through the hot sand-gleam, looming 

soft and calm 



FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 329 

On the sky's rim, the fountain-shading 
palm. 

" The Peace Convention." — Whittier. 

December 26th. 

Thou, whose presence went before 
Our fathers in their weary way. 

As with Thy chosen moved of yore 
The fire by night— the cloud by day ! 

When from each temple of the free, 
A nation's song ascends to Heaven, 

Most Holy Father! unto Thee 
May not our humble prayer be given ? 

" Lines." — Whittier. 

December 2yth. 
Primeval Carpet! every well-worn thread 
Has slowly parted with its virgin dye ; 

1 saw thee fade beneath the ceaseless 

tread, 



330 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

Fainter and fainter in mine anxious 

eye; 
So flies the color from the brightest 

flower, 
And heaven's own rainbow lives but for 

an hour. 

«« To my Companions." — Holmes. 

December 28th. 
It is because you are just like me that 
I talk and know that you will listen. 
We are all splashed and streaked with 
sentiments, — not precisely with the same 
tints, or in exactly the same patterns, but 
by the same hand and from the same 
palette. 

" The Autocrat." — Holmes. 

December 29th. 
Not the great historical events, but the 
personal incidents that call up single 



FEOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 331 



sharp pictures of some human being in 
its pang or struggle, reach us most nearly. 
I remember the platform at Berne, over 
the parapet of which Theobald Weinza- 
pfli's restive horse sprung with him and 
landed him more than a hundred feet 
beneath in the lower town, not dead, 
but sorely broken, and no longer a wild 
youth, but God's servant from that day 
forward. ,, ^^ ^ 

" The Autocrat." — Holmes. 

December ^oth. 
Yes, dear departed, cherished days. 

Could Memory's hand restore 
Your morning light, your evening rays, 

From Time's gray urn once more,— 
Then might this restless heart be still, 

This straining eye might close, 
And Hope her fainting pinions fold. 

While the fair phantoms rose. 

Departed Tiz-ys:'— Holmes. 



332 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 

December jist. 
Oh ! in that dying year hath been 

The sum of all since time began — 
The birth and death, the joy and pain. 

Of Nature and of Man. 

«' The New Year."— Whiitier, 



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